


If tomorrow wasn't such a long time

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Tomorrow Is a Long Time [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Grief, M/M, Marital Breakdown, Minor Surgical Procedure, Pining, References to Tortures (non-explicit), References to rape (non-explicit), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 03:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13650624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: A mission into Russia to rescue an old enemy of the team turns sour, and exposes something dirty at the heart of the company Athos and the others work for. He has to bite his tongue and work with the last person on earth he ever wants to see again, to keep everyone safe.For full warnings, please go to the end notes





	If tomorrow wasn't such a long time

**Author's Note:**

> Thimblerig was again a generous source of encouragement and ideas for this. Thank you.

“Good morning, darling. You slept well.”

D’Artagnan gave the expected little chuckle at Constance’s joke. “You would know.”

“Of course. Athos and the others are awake. You have a briefing with Treville and Madame in thirty minutes, so you need to get your skinny butt into gear.”

“‘M not skinny.”

“Always were, always will be. Hurry up.”

“Yes, dear.”

He turned off the embedded microphone while he showered, so Constance wouldn’t hear him sobbing. She could blame his elevated heart rate and blood pressure on the cold water. Most likely she’d ignore it as they weren’t in the field, and any transient distress was not important.

He was outwardly calm and ready as he strode into the briefing room. Only Athos, Treville and Queen were there. “Aramis and Porthos?” he asked.

Athos listened to Constance over his audio implant. “On their way. Coffee?”

“Thanks. Good morning, sir, madame.”

“And to you,” Queen said, smiling sweetly. Treville merely nodded.

Athos and Treville had insisted the briefing room had decent coffee, since the teams spent so much time eating hard rations, and Athos knew what d’Artagnan liked down to the last drop of creams and granule of sugar. “Sleep well?” his friend murmured as he handed d’Artagnan a mug.

“Like a rock. You?”

“The usual.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Athos shook his head at the impertinence. They returned to the table just as their missing team mates walked in.

“Sorry we’re late,” Aramis said. “We were—”

“None of our business,” Treville snapped, before Aramis—or Porthos—regaled them with an explanation unfit for Queen’s ears or patience. “Sit down, gentlemen. This one’s going to be a bastard.”

D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow at the unusual foul language from their boss. Athos caught his eye and gave him a minute shrug. That mean Athos had no better idea about this mission than d’Artagnan did.

Porthos sat with a grunt. He wouldn’t be going with them whatever was planned. He had broken ribs and a snapped collarbone, incurred six weeks before when he had been blown off a roof. Not even Porthos could carry that kind of injury into the field and be as effective as they needed him to be. Aramis put his hand on his lover’s thigh, though he paid close attention to Treville’s words.

“A French freelance agent has been captured by the Russians. You’ll be going in and extracting her from Russia itself.”

D’Artagnan let out a quiet whistle. “She must be important.”

“She is. Also dangerous, and possibly, we fear, compromised.”

“Why aren’t her own people going in?” Athos asked.

Queen’s face twisted as Treville answered. “She doesn’t have much in the way of ‘own people’.”

Athos stared at Queen, then Treville, and his mouth thinned. “Oh God, it’s bloody Anne, isn’t it? You’re sending us after my damn ex-wife. Why? Why us?”

“Because you’re the best and you all speak Russian like natives,” Treville said, “except for Porthos who’s going to be your handler on this one. Athos, you don’t have to like it, or her. You just need to get her out of Russian hands. She knows too much.”

“Put a bullet in her brain, problem solved,” d’Artagnan muttered.

Queen made a distressed sound and Treville glared at d’Artagnan like he _hated_ him. “Don’t repeat that in or out of my hearing, or you’re dismissed, d’Artagnan. That’s a disgraceful—”

“With respect, sir, he’s not wrong. Other agents have been killed to stop them revealing important information if they can’t be extracted.” Aramis was immune to Treville’s glares, possibly because he knew no one could hate _him_.

“Anne de Winter is _not_ just another agent _._ And France wants her back alive because of the information she’s acquired.”

“Then send France after her,” Athos snarled, leaning forward towards Treville. “I’m out. I want nothing to do with her, and I’m not risking my team for her treacherous hide.”

“Guys,” Porthos murmured.

They all tended to listen to Porthos in his rare interventions in team arguments. Athos sat back in his chair, nostrils flaring. Aramis put his hand on Porthos’s shoulder. D’Artagnan folded his arms and quietly agreed with Athos. Anne de Winter was _trouble_. Also a bitch, and without a gram of loyalty to any of them.

“Agent de Winter was engaged in a sensitive mission to obtain a list of imbedded agents working in France, ones the security services had not been able to detect,” Queen said, two spots of colour high in her cheeks. “We believe she was successful, but she was picked up before she could get the names to us.”

“So, we get the names and then she’s no longer indispensable,” Athos ground out. He and Queen engaged in a staring match so intense, it was a wonder the table between didn’t spontaneously combust. “Your _personal_ interest—”

“ _Your_ personal interest is of no consequence,” she snapped before he could get the point out. “You will bring her out and home safely. This is not up for debate. Obey or resign.”

Athos opened his mouth to do the latter, d’Artagnan was absolutely certain. “Wait, Athos. Madame, you know she’s endangered agents before to save her own skin. Endangered _us_. Are you saying she’s more important than we are, if it comes to that? Because if that’s the case, you should tell us why.”

Athos’s thunderous expression didn’t relax a bit at d’Artagnan words, but at least he looked prepared to wait.

“She isn’t _more_ important,” Queen allowed after a bit more weaponised glaring. “But she’s no less important or valuable than any of you. My _personal_ interest is _not_ the issue. Good agents are worth trying to save, even apart from the information she has. Which, I might add, is likely only stored in her brain, so we need her alive if we’re to retrieve it.”

“Handy,” Porthos muttered. Aramis nodded. D’Artagnan refrained from suggesting they use Constance’s programme and just hoover it out of Anne de Winter’s lying, unfaithful, untrustworthy skull.

“Why isn’t DGSE doing this?”

Treville glanced at Athos, but looked away quickly as if he was too annoyed to talk to him. “Because. I’m not discussing need to know matters of that type with you.”

“All right. Again, why us? None of us have any reason to want to save her, none of us trust her, and none of us like her. You have other Russian-speaking agents.”

“Again, not up for discussion,” Treville said. “You have two choices, Athos. You know what they are. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

“Then I quit,” d’Artagnan said, getting to his feet. Athos looked up at him in obvious surprise, but with a small curl of a smile along with it. In his ear, Constance said, “Charles, you should calm—” He hit the mute on his audio. “This is bullshit, sir, madame. If you can’t even be bothered to explain why we need to risk our lives for someone who’s betrayed us, then I don’t want to work for you.”

Porthos climbed awkwardly to his feet. “Me neither.”

“Same here,” Aramis said.

Athos gave Treville an ugly smirk. “I believe that took just twenty-seven seconds. Sir.”

Queen stood and stalked out, stiff backed as an angry cat. “Are we done?” d’Artagnan said with deliberate insolence. “I have a résumé to buff up.”

“Sit down,” Treville growled. “Enough. Athos, I need you to do this _because_ of your history with her. I said she may have been compromised. I need your history with her to work out if that’s the case.”

“So, it wasn’t need to know so much as Queen’s feelings are more important than keeping your team happy,” d’Artagnan said, which earned him a reproving look from Aramis. Aramis loved Queen. So did d’Artagnan, but he wasn’t going to die to save her girlfriend just because.

“This is a delicate situation, d’Artagnan. Anne de Winter’s relationship with Queen is the reason we need to know if she’s working for the other side.”

“If she is?” Aramis asked.

“Then we deal with that. She’s not going to be allowed anywhere near Madame if there’s the slightest suggestion that she’s unsafe to do so.”

Athos exhaled. “Fuck, I need a drink.” D’Artagnan caught Porthos’s little frown, and knew exactly what he was thinking.

“No time,” Treville said, collecting his papers together with unnecessary officiousness. “Your flight to Viļaka will leave at oh ten hundred hours. Your passports and IDs are all ready, as is your kit. Your contact will brief you further. The mission is extract her, bring her back to France and take her to a safe house. While she’s there, we’ll get the list, monitor and question her, and decide whether she can safely be released. I trust your sense of honour will stop you executing her over old grudges.”

“Old—” Athos choked in fury. “She got my brother killed!”

“That was an accident—”

“An accident that was entirely her fault, Jean.”

“Enough. I trust you not to execute her over getting your brother killed. Is that better?”

“I still need a drink,” Athos snapped, and stomped out of the room.

Treville grimaced. “Aramis, d’Artagnan, sort him out. Porthos, the briefing materials are available now through Constance.”

“So, we’re doing this?” Aramis asked no one in particular.

“Looks like,” d’Artagnan said. “Let’s go find him.”

The skin under his jaw tingled as d’Artagnan followed Aramis to their living quarters. Athos was nothing if not predictable when he was upset about his ex-wife, so he would be holed up in his room, possibly drinking brandy like water, or, more likely, glaring at the bottle like he hated the entire world for not letting him drink. Athos was not an alcoholic as such. He just had very specific triggers with very specific agonies resulting from them, and Treville knew that as well as any of them. Damn him for hitting every last one of them with this bloody mission.

The tingle was now more like a burn, and guiltily, d’Artagnan remembered he’d turned off the audio. Constance was trying to contact him. He moved his jaw and her voice came through. “At last. What are you doing, d’Artagnan?”

“Protecting my team.”

“By walking out on them? We never abandon our team mates. Never.”

 _You did._ The thought makes his throat thick and his eyes sting. “Can’t talk now, love. I have an Athos to catch.”

“I know that. I’m talking to him too.”

“Talk to Treville as well, and make him understand what this will do to him. Us.”

“Treville’s right. Athos is the best person for this, and Athos needs you boys. Queen isn’t part of this decision.”

“A little warning would have been nice, since you knew about this in advance.”

“You know I can’t tell you this stuff, d’Artagnan. Don’t be a prat.”

“Language. Gotta go, we’re here.”

“I know,” she said before going quiet.

Aramis was standing at Athos’s door, waiting for d’Artagnan to stop talking to Constance. “Ready?”

“It’s only Athos. This bit’s easy.” _Wait until Anne de bloody Winter shows up._

Athos was indeed sitting on his bed and glaring at the unopened bottle of brandy on his small bookshelf. “Sorry,” he bit out. “That was unprofessional.”

“Yeah, of Treville,” d’Artagnan said, slinging himself into an armchair. Aramis chose to lean on the wall, arms folded and one foot propped up behind to support himself. “I mean, what the hell? Queen’s bonking your ex and suddenly we’re expendable next to her?”

“That’s not exactly what the situation is,” Aramis said in his equitable manner. “But Treville is still hiding something from us. I doubt even torture will make him reveal it, so, the question is...do we trust him, even if we can’t trust _her_?”

“Of all the fucking women. Of all the fucking female agents in France,” Athos muttered. “She couldn’t get herself decently killed escaping from the Russians. No, she has to survive to endanger my friends, compromise our bosses, and torment me. Your idea sounds better and better every second, d’Artagnan.”

“I mean, if one of us was holding a gun and just happened to trip and it just happened to put a bullet through her head....”

Athos gave him a brief, grateful look for that, before scowling. “With her luck, it would miss, ricochet off a wall, and kill one of us instead. She has a _talent_ for spreading misery around.”

“I can’t imagine what Queen sees in her,” Aramis murmured, which was quite an admission from someone who could see the good in anyone.

“Her lying tongue presumably has other uses,” Athos said. “Gentlemen, I can’t in conscience order or ask you to do this. I’m still not sure I can stomach it.”

“We need to decide fast,” d’Artagnan said. “Yes or no.”

A long silence, then Aramis said, “Yes. Reluctantly. I don’t think Treville would risk us on anything that wasn’t incredibly important.”

Athos made a curt, dismissive wave. “Every mission is ‘incredibly important’ or they wouldn’t ask us. And yet the world turned before we took on this job, and it will once again when we’re dead or retired. I’ve been doing this job too long to believe every scream of desperation. Charles?”

Athos only ever called him ‘Charles’ when it was a very personal matter. “I don’t like it. But Treville’s right. We’ve got a better chance of dealing with her crap than any other team, and if we didn’t go, and another team was killed because they didn’t spot something we could have, I’d feel...I think I’d never forgive myself.”

“And that’s how she sucks everyone in. Guilt and manipulation.” Athos’s smooth voice was sour with disgust. “All right. Constance, how long before we’re being picked up for the airport?”

“You have one hour, Athos. Don’t spend it drinking.”

“Bloody nag, your wife,” Athos said, not really looking at d’Artagnan so he missed the stab of pain that goes through d’Artagnan at his words. Aramis didn’t though. He frowned a little in concern. “Have you got any briefing materials for us at all?”

“I’ve made them available now,” she said.

“Well, gentlemen, you have one hour,” Athos said, reaching over to his bedside table and picking up his tablet on which the material could be read. “Do what you need to do, be downstairs in one hour plus two minutes.”

“Yes, Athos,” the two of them said, and leave him to adjust in the way that suited him best.

“I need to speak to Porthos before we leave,” Aramis said as they walk down the corridor. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am,” d’Artagnan said. “I want to have a look over the materials too.”

“I meant...about what Athos said.”

“He’s right. She _is_ a nag,” d’Artagnan said.

“Oy.”

Aramis smirks. “We say it with love, of course, Constance.”

“You can shut up now, Aramis d’Herblay,” and the interplay was so familiar, d’Artagnan grinned. Then he remembered, and his throat closed again.

“See you in an hour,” he said and walked off. His room was only two doors down, but he wanted to find a place where he could sit and not be found without more than minimal effort. He chose their common room, since the rest of the team was otherwise occupied.

He turned off audio again. He could never tell the others how much like being stabbed in the chest it felt like to hear Constance’s voice.

And he could never, ever admit that to her.

*****************************

The flight from Paris to their destination in Latvia by private jet took five hours. Athos buried himself in _War and Peace_ in the original Russian, which d’Artagnan had once started and tossed aside as too pointless for words. Aramis amused himself by reading _Russia Today_ ’s website and trying to work out the truth behind the propaganda. D’Artagnan hadn’t been able to deal with news or politics for months, so he listened to a non-fiction audiobook in Russian about life in the country before the Revolution. It was about as far from his own reality as he could imagine, which was perfect for his mood. Conversation between the three of them was exclusively in Russian, which also suited him, as forming his thoughts in alien patterns knocked him out of overfamiliar ruts which led to overfamiliar misery.

Even Constance spoke Russian, though her fluency was computer-enhanced. It made it easier for him to listen to her, not that she had much to say for this long journey. They’d all read the brief briefing, had all their equipment, and knew what they were to expect. At this point, all she could do would be to provide feedback on their biometrics, and that wasn’t something they needed or wanted. D’Artagnan could have chatted to her, but he didn’t want that. Not any more.

They caught some sleep out of boredom, and because it would be a long night. But d’Artagnan only napped for about an hour. When he woke, he found Athos watching him. “What?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Do you think she’ll stay in the safe house willingly?”

“Unlikely,” Athos said, his mouth turning down. “The more she objects, the more likely it is she’s compromised, though.”

“Could you do it? Shoot her?”

Athos stared at him with that unnerving, unblinking way of his. “If no one else can, and it needs to be done. Could you?”

“If it needs to be done. Execution’s not my thing.”

“It’s not a thing for any of us. I resent this part of it more than anything else Treville has asked. We don’t do assassinations. Never have.”

“Maybe he wanted to give you the pleasure of it.”

Now the stare was disapproving. “I might want her dead. I don’t want to be the one to do it. Treville knows that.”

Yeah, he did. It was undoubtedly politics at a level d’Artagnan didn’t give a shit about that that had put his team in the position of cleaning up a DGSE mess. Again.

Athos went back to his book. D’Artagnan put his earpods in again and listened to a cultured Russian voice dutifully explaining why being a serf in the nineteenth century was like losing the lottery of life.

They landed at a remote airfield just after seventeen hundred hours local time and were picked by their contact, a Ukrainian calling himself ‘Vitaly’, driving a Russian UAZ Hunter Jeep. They crossed the border without difficult like the good little Russian citizens their fake IDs proclaimed them to be, then he drove them for six hours through the dark to a small dacha a hundred kilometres west of Kuvshinovo, near to which Anne de Winter was being held in an FSB safe house, disguised as a small farm.

While they stuffed themselves on tea and good bread and sausage, Vitaly confirmed de Winter was still in the safe house. “It’s been three days. Do you think she will have broken?”

“Possibly.” Athos’s opinion had a leaden quality to it, like it hurt him to express it. “But they’ll only just be warming up. Any chance they think they can trade her?”

“I doubt it. She’s not an official DGSE agent, or military. They’ll drain her dry then....” He mimicked a gun to his temple. “Boof.”

“They won’t be expecting a rescue,” Aramis said. “One thing in our favour.”

“How heavily guarded is this house?” d’Artagnan asked.

They went over the plans. There were six men at the two-storey house. Two guards, discreet security cameras all the way around, probably infrared capable. There was only way to do this—fast, surgical, no survivors.

Porthos’s skills would have been a real asset in this situation, though three plus a driver was a decent sized team for this kind of job. D’Artagnan caught Aramis’s look at Athos as Vitaly stopped talking again, and knew his teammate was thinking of their fourth, stuck back in Paris. Working with them, but not _with_ them.

“We’ll do it tomorrow, before midnight,” Athos said. The weather forecast was poor, which would work in their favour. “Aramis, she’ll most likely need medical attention. We’ll need to leave here by ten. How far to the first safe house?”

“Fifty kilometres. Should only take you an hour. Two at most in the worst conditions.”

“We need supplies in case we need to camp in the vehicle.”

“All arranged.”

“Good.” Athos stood. “Right, gentlemen, get a good night’s sleep.”

“I have to contact base,” d’Artagnan said.

“Do that, then hit the sack. I’ll see you in the morning.” He and Vitaly walked off up the stairs.

D’Artagnan went to work setting up their secure satellite connection. Once he had a strong signal, he called base, still speaking in Russian. Porthos, despite the late hour, answered in the same language, “Good morning, Snowbirds. Warm enough for you there?”

“Great weather for polar bears, Mama bear. I’ll hand you over to the man.” D’Artagnan signalled to Aramis, and left him talk to his lover and fill him in on their status, while d’Artagnan went off in search of his bed. They were sharing one room, with a bunk bed and a single. Athos had claimed the single, so d’Artagnan took the upper bunk.

“Don’t be in any hurry to get up,” Athos murmured as d’Artagnan returned from cleaning his teeth. “It’ll be a damn long night.”

“Official permission to have a sleep in. Who could ask for more?”

Athos grunted and pulled the blanket over his head.

“So, no wake-up reminder then?”

D’Artagnan nearly fell out of his bunk at hearing Constance’s voice in his ear. She had been silent since not long after they left Paris. “Er, no. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Is the dacha nice?”

“Yeah. Warm, which is good. Um, Athos is trying to sleep, love.”

“Sorry. Just checking in. Porthos has gone to bed, so I’m taking over until he’s back on duty. Do you want some music or white noise to help you sleep?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired out. Lot of travelling.”

“It’s not like you had to do it on foot.” She gave a little chuckle. D’Artagnan’s chest tightened. “Anyway, sleep tight, darling.”

“You too,” he said automatically, before remembering. He switched off the audio. No way did he want to be woken up to the sound of her voice.

“D’Artagnan?” Athos’s voice was quiet, and didn’t sound annoyed at being kept awake by d’Artagnan’s chatter.

“I’m fine. Constance was checking in. Shift changeover.”

“Of course.” Athos sounded like he wanted to say something else. “Good night.”

“You too.”

Aramis crept in a couple of minutes later, barely making the bed move at all. Then all was silent and dark. D’Artagnan hadn’t lied. He was tired. The road journey had been dull as hell, and it was now getting on for two in the morning. But he couldn’t sleep.

He hadn’t slept well in months. He was better than he had been, but there was always an hour at night before he could fall asleep, his mind fighting with memories, and then he tended to wake up at least twice and have trouble getting back under.

Normally it wouldn’t matter, but this was his first foreign assignment since coming back to work, and he needed to be sharp, however late he was allowed to sleep in. So he quietly swallowed one of the sleeping pills he’d been prescribed and washed it down with the water from the bottle he had with him.

One day he would sleep normally again. But not today.

*****************************

He slept until after nine, local time, which was seven am Paris time, so he hadn’t actually slept in much at all. The bedroom was deserted, so his team mates were as much slaves to their circadian clocks as he was. He showered and went downstairs, where Aramis was standing at the counter, pouring tea. D’Artagnan grabbed a cup and some toast, then went to watch the dawn slowly coming up through the forest canopy while he ate. He was drowsy from the pill, but had slept through, which was a mercy. He would have time for another nap or two today, before the night’s mission.

He went back to the kitchen for another cup of tea. Aramis had disappeared, possibly to talk to Porthos, or just to be on his own for a bit. D’Artagnan wandered over to the kitchen table where Athos was staring at maps, working out a route to the Latvian-Russian border, and alternatives, if they were needed.

“How badly injured is she likely to be?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Anything from not at all, physically, to very nearly dead. There was no information on whether she was hurt during capture, and the skill of interrogators during torture varies.”

D’Artagnan felt a little nauseous at Athos’s cold, blunt words. He hated de Winter almost as much as Athos did, but torture...no one deserved torture. “We’re not going to....”

Athos looked up and realised what he was asking. “For heaven’s sake. Of course not. If anyone will be tortured, it will be us, having to put up with her crap.”

“So looking forward to that,” d’Artagnan said, making a face.

“Me too, of course.”

D’Artagnan clasped his shoulder, then went to drink his tea. He wanted coffee, but they were holding off large amounts of caffeine until later, when the pills would have a bigger, better impact on their wakefulness and performance.

With hours and hours to go with nothing to do but wait, eat, and rest, he resumed his audiobook, which, if nothing else, was guaranteed to help him nap later on. His mind kept drifting back to his single, all too memorable experience with de Winter.

He had first heard of her in the aftermath of the death of Athos’s brother, while she was still happily married to Athos. Athos was ex-Special forces, and she was an Army doctor turned medical consultant for one of the big pharmaceutical companies. While Athos was flying around Europe on assignments for Garrison Ltd, she was travelling around the world on lucrative contracts.

What none of them knew was that Anne d’Athos, as she was known back then, was also doing a little bit of commercial espionage on the side. The company she had been spying on was Russian, and they took her activities extremely amiss. When they found out who had stolen their data, they wanted revenge of a most permanent nature.

Moonlighting in such a reckless, secretive manner was bad enough. But then she had the bad form to lead the men who were paid to punish her right back to her and Athos’s house, where his brother, aged only twenty-three also lived. She managed to kill the agents, but not before they had shot Thomas to death. Worse still, she bolted, leaving Athos to come home and find the bodies on his own.

Athos left the field for a year over that while he sorted out the mess and did his grieving in the most destructive manner possible. Only his friends, Aramis, Porthos, and Treville had managed to drag him back from the edge, and convince him to dry out and come back to work.

D’Artagnan had already heard the whole ghastly story by the time he was seconded from another team when Athos was officially ready to return. He soon discovered that ‘officially’ didn’t mean ‘actually.  Whichever doctor had signed Athos off as fit for duty was a fucking quack. He had PTSD, a lingering toxic relationship with alcohol, and a hatred of the human race that even included his team mates half the time.

Thomas died five years ago. Three years ago, Anne d’Athos, now calling herself Anne de Winter, popped up again, this time as a freelance security agent, in the middle of a situation where d’Artagnan’s team were providing security for a French businessman working in the Ukraine. Their client was ambushed by a group of militants, and while the team were fighting them off, another group turned up to try and kidnap their client. The second group included de Winter, and had happily shot at both sides to cause maximum chaos. The client had been mortally wounded, Aramis had been shot in the hip and shoulder and nearly bled out before he could be operated on, and Athos had missed being shot in the head by a millimetre.

Anne de Winter had escaped without a scratch, and leaving no clue as to whom she worked for, or why they wanted their client.

The only thing that had stopped Athos getting blackout drunk over it was Porthos pulling him up by his shirt in the hospital and growling at him that Aramis needed their whole team focussed on him and his recovery, and Athos could save his self-indulgent wanking until Aramis was one hundred percent fit again.

None of them had ever confronted Athos before over his drinking. He had always been at pains to keep his problem affecting their missions, even if his hangovers and general shitty attitude to life had made being on a team somewhat less of a pleasure at times.

Porthos’s fury, his sheer panic at what had happened to his lover, at the hands of Athos’s wife, had shocked Athos enough that he stopped drinking for six months. When he started again, it was at a level that none of them could have a problem with—Porthos drank more than Athos did now.

The exceptions were when Anne’s name came up again. That had happened only twice before today—once when she sent Athos a request for a divorce, and the other time was when Treville had to let them know that Queen and Anne were in a relationship. Each time, Athos had slunk away on his own for the night, drunk himself into unconsciousness, and then not mentioned it again to any of them. Even Aramis, who believed talking was the solution to almost all problems, didn’t raise it with him. Unexploded bombs were best left unpoked.

D’Artagnan was not looking forward to the next few days, but then neither was Athos. Athos had been there for d’Artagnan at the worst time of his life, so d’Artagnan would be there for Athos. They all would be.

*****************************

Snow was falling hard by the time Vitaly reached the track leading to the safe house. D’Artagnan got out and led the way for just under a kilometre, checking for sensors and trip wires, as the rest followed in the jeep, lights off.

Vitaly parked the jeep two hundred metres from the fake farm house, behind a tall conifer windbreak. D’Artagnan hopped back inside, shivering, while Athos got out and used the infrared night vision binoculars to check the situation.

“One outside,” he said when he returned.

“Cameras?” Aramis asked.

“Can’t tell, but we have to assume they have them. Generator emissions from the rear.  Aramis, you take out the guard. D’Artagnan, you cut the power. Aramis and I will go in first, d’Artagnan, you watch our backs. Vitaly, keep the engine running.”

Murmurs of assent, then Aramis climbed out to line up his shot at the side of the hedge. Athos crouched behind him, while d’Artagnan moved in a wide circle to the rear of the building to sabotage the power supply. Despite the fat snowflakes, Aramis’s first shot took out the guard. The two of them crept close to the side of the house, keeping low, waiting for the light over the front door to go out.

Thirty second later, all went dark. They switched on their head-mounted lights, then Athos moved to the front door and counted down from three to zero on his fingers. They shot out the locks, then used their combined mass to bash open the door. Athos shot one man rushing towards them, Aramis another two coming in from a room off the hall. Athos signalled to Aramis to sweep left, while he went right. Another two agents died before Athos found a heavily locked door. He shot out the lock out as best he could, then he and Aramis who had joined him again, charged it twice before it opened.

Athos switched up his head light to better see the naked prisoner hanging by her wrists from chains, apparently unconscious. He let Aramis check her over while he dealt with the cuffs. He concentrated on the necessary details, and refused to think of who it was that he was setting free.

The cuffs released, the prisoner sagged, caught by Aramis. There was nothing else in the room, not even a bucket. “I’ll check for a blanket,” Athos said.

The next room had two beds, with good quality sleeping bags. Athos took one and opened it up. Aramis wrapped it around the prisoner, and lifted her up into his arms. Athos couldn’t miss the bruises, cuts, and burns, but he ignored the meaning behind them, and led the way out of the house.

At the door, d’Artagnan went to help Aramis, but he refused. “I’ve got her. I could do with some lighting though.”

Athos went ahead, d’Artagnan behind, using their head lamps to make the path easier to see. It was hard going for Aramis, but he never let the captive drag in the snow, holding her close to his chest. The temperature was low enough to kill in minutes, but it took less than one to reach the jeep. D’Artagnan got in first and Aramis handed the captive in to him, then climbed aboard and speedily wrapped her in blankets over the sleeping bag and an outer thermal wrap to keep in what heat she generated.

“What’s her condition?” Athos asked as Vitaly set off without waiting for an order.

“Alive,” Aramis said, voice tight. “Unconscious. No head injury. No major bones broken. Verging on hypothermic.” A pause. Athos waited while Aramis did his check. “Heart’s strong, pulse slow but not abnormal. She’ll live, but she needs clothes. Dressings on some of the wounded too.”

“Keep her warm until we get to the safe house,” Athos said without looking at the back seat. “D’Artagnan, turn on our comms.”

“Done.”

Athos clicked on his audio.  “Snowbirds calling base.”

“Hello, snowbirds. Missing the sun?”

Constance sounded bright and cheerful, but she always did. “We have the package. Package in reasonable condition. Heading for the shed now.”

“Well done, snowbirds. I have you on the screen.”

“Good to know. Snowbirds out.”

Only then did he glance in the rear-view mirror. D’Artagnan’s face was barely visible, but Athos guessed his expression from past experience.

The fresh heavy snow made going difficult along the minor road to the safe house, but they made it in just under an hour. At five and two hundred metres from it, d’Artagnan left the vehicle to place sensors on trees lining the road, to alert them to incoming traffic. Once Vitaly had the car in the garage, Athos said, “Vitaly, get the car fuelled up. Aramis, you deal with her. I’ll start the generator. D’Artagnan, place the sensors, then establish comms again. We’ll leave at daylight.”

That was six hours away. By the time Athos entered the house, Aramis had their guest in one of the bedrooms. Athos turned on the heating, and boiled some water to make warm drinks for them all out of the supplies he had brought in with him. Vitaly was the next in, and gratefully accepted a cup of instant hot chocolate. “I should try to sleep,” he said.

“We all should.” Athos made another cup of chocolate because d’Artagnan preferred that, and he would be chilled. He made two cups of instant coffee as well, one with three sachets of sugar and some cold water to cool it a little.

D’Artagnan came in hugging himself. “I do not want to know the actual temperature outside,” he said. “Brrr.”

“Are you sure?” Constance said in Athos’s ear.

“Yes!” d’Artagnan yelped. “Sorry,” he said to the two men.

Athos handed him the cup of chocolate. “Drink that, go to bed. Long day ahead.”

“Aye aye, skipper.”

Athos gave him a small smile for that, then carried the two cups of coffee into the bedroom where Aramis was tending to....

 _Anne_. There. Anne was their prisoner. Captive.

 _Guest_.

“I brought coffee. Can she drink anything?”

“Yes,” Aramis said. “With help. If you prop her up. She’s awake.”

Athos now regretted sending d’Artagnan to bed. He put the cups on the floor then went behind Anne’s head to held her sit. She didn’t seem to notice him, certainly not enough to care. “The red one has sugar in it.”

Aramis picked it up and held it near her mouth. “Drink this, it’ll warm you up.”

After a few seconds, she moved, and sipped carefully at the coffee. Aramis hadn’t dressed her, but she was still wrapped in the blankets and sleeping bag.

“Will she be fit to travel?”

“She’ll just have to be. Apart from the superficial injuries, which are painful but not serious, she’s mainly cold, sore, and tired.”

“And here,” she croaked. “‘M awake.”

“Yes, we know,” Aramis said more kindly than Athos could have managed. “Drink that, and you can sleep. In a few hours, we’ll tidy you up so you can cross the border into Latvia.”

“Good.”

She made a solid effort to drink most of the coffee, but fatigue defeated her. Aramis took the cup away as she fell asleep. Athos let her lie flat and stood with indecent haste.

“Another night here would make a huge difference,” Aramis said.

“We can’t risk it. Dress her now in case we have to move fast. She can wait to clean up properly until we reach France.”

“As you wish. I’ll sleep in here, keep an eye on her. I assume you don’t want the honour.”

Athos gave him a look for that, and walked out.

 _Honour_. Not likely.

*****************************

It felt like d’Artagnan had barely got to sleep when Constance’s shouting at him woke him again. “Perimeter alarm! You have intruders! Wake _up_!”

Which was a shit way to be woken but it had him on his feet in a second. He had slept full clothed and with his boots on—they all did—and with his pistol in its holster. He reached out and found the night vision goggles on the floor where he’d leave them, put them on and found his SIG Sauer rifle.

Athos was up now too, and grabbed his own goggles while using his comms mic. “Road alarm. Aramis, protect the package. D’Artagnan, with me.”

All the lights were off. They crept to the front window, staying low. Athos took a careful look through the curtains. “Three men. Two coming this way, one going to the back.”

“I’ll deal with him.”

D’Artagnan guessed the intruder would be heading for either the generator or the back door. He silently unlocked the door, then crouched by it, listening for the crunch of shoes on the snow. As soon as he heard it, he fired multiple shots through the door at waist height, kicked it open, and fired another couple of rounds into the body lying at the step. “One down,” he said into his mic.

“Two down this side,” Athos replied. “Check for ID.”

D’Artagnan retrieved the guy’s wallet and radio, but shut and locked the door and went to find Athos without looking at them. Athos was in Aramis’s room, with de Winter, and Vitaly. “Fake ID,” Aramis pronounced.

“They must be Russian. How the hell did they find us?” Vitaly asked.

“No idea. Everyone, we’re moving now. You have five minutes.”

Six minutes later they were on their way, with the jeep’s plates disguised with false ones. De Winter sat next to d’Artagnan in the back seat, saying nothing. Athos made Vitaly stop so he and D’Artagnan could check the intruders’ vehicle. They had come not only fully prepared for a fight, but also to contain de Winter. “How _did_ they find us?” D’Artagnan murmured to his team mate.

“Later.”

They climbed back on board, and Vitaly set off again. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Border,” Athos said. “Aramis, can you clean her up enough for that?”

“I can clean myself,” de Winter croaked. “Hello, Olivier.”

Athos ignored her. “Aramis?”

“If we stop somewhere for makeup to be applied, hair brushing and so on.”

“When we change vehicles. Vitaly, you’ll need to make a run for it. Anywhere but where we are, or where we might have been.”

“Understood. That’s three hours away though.”

“See if you can do it faster.”

Athos settled back. D’Artagnan couldn’t see his expression, but he could see his ex’s. It was a sure thing they matched, right now.

*****************************

Athos had to force himself to stop grinding his teeth as they drove through the night. How had the Russians found them so fast? Or at all? And he could have done without Anne attempting to assert autonomy. He would have been perfectly happy if she had remained unconscious until they reached France, however unlikely that was.

Vitaly reached the small-town garage where he had stowed the second vehicle, a Chevrolet Niva. A little more comfortable than the jeep, at least, with more elbow room, and space to put between him and _her_. It was still an hour until dawn, so while the others transferred their gear minus the more unacceptable weaponry into the Niva, Aramis worked by the garage’s sole fluorescent light to clean Anne’s face.

She refused to let him make her up. “You’ll botch it and that will look worse than none at all. You can brush my hair.”

Aramis did as he was told, no reacting to her queenly tone, but not long after he started trying to tidy the mess captivity had made of her mane, he stopped, and picked something out from it, not without making her jerk away in irritation. “Hold still. You have something in your hair.”

“Ignore it.”

“Can’t. Athos? D’Artagnan?”

He held out a small black object in the palm of his hand for their inspection. “That’s a tracker,” d’Artagnan said. “Why is she wearing a tracker?”

Athos grabbed Anne’s wrist and put the thing in her hand. “Explain?”

She pushed it back at him. “I can’t.”

“They expected you to be rescued. Why?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” she snapped. “And the longer we stay here, the easier it will be for them to find us with it.”

Athos snarled at her as he handed it to Vitaly. “Take it, lose it a long way from here, and you get a long way from it.”

“Understood. You have everything?”

“Yes.” He decided not to tell the man of a change in plans he had just decided on. The fewer people who knew, the better. “Thank you.”

Vitaly kissed both his cheeks. “Good luck. Nice working with you.”

“Finish that in the car,” Athos said to Aramis, when Vitaly had driven off. “We’ll have to cross the border somewhere else. They’ll be expecting us to keep going on this road.”

“Right.” He helped Anne back into the car, and collected the makeup box to toss in after her.

“D’Artagnan, you ride up front. Mama bear, you there?” he said as he started the engine.

“It’s me again, snowbird,” Constance said. “I have a lock on that tracker’s signal.”

“Good woman. Can you identify the make? Is it one of theirs?”

“It’s one they use.”

“Let the boss know what’s happening. We’re going to try and deliver the package by another route. We’ll need transport from our new destination.”

“Will arrange. There are no tracking signals coming from your vehicle, by the way.”

Athos stifled a curse. He should have checked. “And Vitaly’s?”

“There’s a second signal.”

“Bugger. Let him know, please.”

Why would they want Anne back? Of course, having captured her alive once, it made sense to interrogate her, but once she escaped? Why not kill her outright, save them a lot of trouble? She was taking information to them, so everything she knew, they knew.

In theory, at least.

He wanted to ask her, but talking to her was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d leave the interrogation to Treville. This stuff was above his pay grade. At least for now.

He turned off audio, and said to d’Artagnan, “Send a secure text to tell Constance we’ll try the Kārsava border crossing.”

“You think our audio is insecure?”

“I’m not happy about communicating with base at all right now, but text is safer than audio.”

“Understood.”

Shortly after the text went, d’Artagnan’s phone sounded the alert for an incoming message. “Base has sent us coordinates for our flight.”

“Put it in the GPS then.” Athos couldn’t help noticing that d’Artagnan avoided calling Constance by her name. It wasn’t the right time to ask him about it.

Aiming for the Kārsava crossing instead of Viljaka added another hour to their journey. Aramis passed out food from their packs, and handed over water bottles and caffeine pills to the front seat. Athos would drive all the way. He wasn’t sitting in the back with her, Aramis was better suited to handling their guest, and d’Artagnan was too useful right where he was.

There was no chat, the way there usually was on their missions. Anne’s presence in the car was like a lump of lead in his throat, and he guessed in his friends’. None of them liked or trusted her, and while Aramis was being as kind and devoted in his care as he always would, there was none of his usual gentle flirting or humour. He didn’t speak to her at all unless absolutely necessary.

For her part, Anne finished making up her face and tidying her hair into a ponytail. One would never know from looking at her that she had been interrogated for four days by trained torturers, and yet Athos knew she had. She ate and drank in silence, and otherwise stared out the window.

Athos stopped at another service station before the border crossing. “Everyone, familiarise yourselves with your identities and legends. Last chance for a toilet break.”

“Am I allowed coffee?” Anne said.

“If Aramis goes with you and you can manage not to bring the FSB down on our heads.” He nodded to Aramis, who left the car and helped her out. She limped a little as they walked across the snowy carpark.

“We’re waiting until they get back?” d’Artagnan asked.

“In case we need to make a quick getaway.” D’Artagnan nodded, staring out of the windscreen. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I could have done without the early wake up call.”

“We all could have. I meant, about being back at work. You’re coping?”

“I was cleared by Treville’s pet psychologist, you know. I’m not going to fall apart.”

“I never thought...you just don’t seem your usual self.”

D’Artagnan snorted. “I don’t think I ever will be the same again. Were you, after what she did?”

“No. Fair point. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. If you ever think I could let you down—”

Athos turned to him in concern. “God, d’Artagnan, _no_. _Never_. I just worry about you. As a friend.”

“Thanks. Um, listen, I think I’d like coffee too. You want one? You can mind the car on your own, right?”

“Yes, go stretch those ridiculous legs, and bring me back tea. And chocolate. The good stuff.”

“In a service station?”

“Do your best.”

D’Artagnan grinned, suddenly looking much more like his old self. Athos had swapped chocolate for booze a while ago, though not in the same quantities, and had become something of a connoisseur. Russian chocolate was one of his favourites.

Chocolate wouldn’t be enough to lift his mood today.

He had no doubt that Aramis and Anne did the necessary as fast as possible, but the three of them were still gone for ten anxious minutes, which made him less than gracious when they all piled back in the car. D’Artagnan handed him his coffee. “Sorry, the queue was ridiculous. Do you want the chocolate now?”

Athos only grunted and shook his head, sipping the coffee, and handing it back to D’Artagnan to hold while he drove off. “You didn’t need to stop?”

“I can piss against the tyres if I have to.”

D’Artagnan’s expression went blank, and he stared out of the windscreen again, ignoring Athos unless he held his hand out for the cup. Athos would apologise once they were all safe across the border.

As they approached the border control point, he heard some shifting in the back, and when he glanced in the mirror, he found Anne snuggling up to Aramis. She saw him looking and rolled her eyes. He looked away, and queued like a dutiful little Russian tourist.

Fortunately, their IDs provoked no suspicion. When asked why they were going to Latvia, Athos said they were attending a christening. The guard looked in the back. “You’re taking those two to a church?”

Athos refused to look. “It was supposed to be guys-only but he couldn’t leave his lady behind.”

He rolled his eyes theatrically and the officer laughed. “Sex addict, is he?”

“He thinks if he doesn’t keep his prick wet, it’ll dry up and blow away. He’ll probably miss the christening because he’ll still be in bed, at it like a goat.”

“You’ll have to strong arm him. Good luck with that.” Their passports were stamped and handed back, and the officer waved them on.

Athos drove on for a few kilometres before changing course and following the directions of their GPS towards the airfield. Aramis and Anne had resumed their previous seating positions, keeping a decorous distance between them. The pretence of amorous affection might have helped them get through the checkpoint, or it might have been unnecessary and designed purely to humiliate Athos and Aramis both.

It made him sad and furious at the same time that he simply could not begin to guess what Anne’s motive had been. Once he had been so certain he knew her. He’d learned his lesson about trying to work out what she was thinking.

The jet was waiting for them, stairs down. The men grabbed their packs and equipment bags. Anne went to help, but Athos stopped her. “You, on the plane. Now.”

She walked over to the jet without looking back or acknowledging him. Aramis grimaced at him as he passed by, but followed her without commenting.

Athos started in the direction of the plane, but d’Artagnan stopped. “I hear vehicles.”

Athos listened. “Incoming. Run. Now.”

D’Artagnan hesitated only a second, then took off, keeping pace with Athos. The shooting began as they reached the plane, striking the ground behind them. “Go, go!” he shouted up stairs as Aramis put his head out. “Inside!”

He made it into the plane. D’Artagnan behind him, had one foot inside when he yelled in pain. Athos jerked him all the way into the plane and hit the hatch closure control. “Take off,” Athos bellowed towards the cockpit, at the same time laying d’Artagnan on the ground. “Aramis, help me.”

The jet began its taxiing. Athos couldn’t hear any more gunfire, which didn’t make sense, but right now, d’Artagnan was bleeding out on the floor and nothing else mattered.

They had to brace themselves against the seats as the jet took off, but Aramis kept working. The bullet had entered high on d’Artagnan’s left buttock and exited through his chest, under his ribcage. D’Artagnan was sweaty and white with pain, biting his lips as Aramis cut away his clothes.

Suddenly there was someone beside Aramis. “Athos, get out of the way and let me help. Tell your pilot to head to Sweden.” Athos looked up at Anne’s face. “Move.”

She was a doctor. She was an enemy. “Do it, Athos,” Aramis said.

He switched places with her and ran to the cockpit. “We need a destination in Sweden near a hospital.”

“I’ll try for Stockholm.”

Athos turned on his audio. “Mama bear, snowbirds need urgent assistance. We have one severe GSW, need secure medical attention stat. Suggest Stockholm.”

“On it, snowbird. Package?”

“On board and assisting.”

“Will advise shortly. Head to Stockholm.”

“Stockholm is good,” Athos told the pilot. He returned to the cabin, where Anne and Aramis both had their hands on d’Artagnan, who was turned on his uninjured side. There was a lot of blood.

Anne said without looking, “You have an IV kit on board. Fetch it. He’s going into shock.”

Aramis’s pack had comprehensive medical supplies and the jet also carried them as part of the contract. He brought them to Anne and handed the bits to her as she requested them. Once the line was in and the drip working, she said, “If you don’t have something to hook it to, you’ll need to hold it.”

He held it while they worked. “Mama bear, status?”

“Airfield cleared, medical response secured. You will arrive in fifty-five minutes.”

“Understood.” He spoke to Anne. “ETA in fifty-five minutes. Will he live?”

“We can’t operate on the plane. This is all we can do for him. I’ll monitor him.”

“Aramis can—”

“She’s better than me,” Aramis said, looking at him. They both knew why Athos would prefer him to do it, but it was d’Artagnan’s life on the line. Aramis stripped off his bloodied gloves. “We need to move him. Anne, there are blankets in the overhead lockers.”

She found them and spread them out ahead of the seating, where there was a little more space. Athos took d’Artagnan’s legs and Aramis his shoulders. The lad bit off a cry as they lifted him. Mercifully, it only took a few seconds to get him in position, and there was a coat hook that could be used to hold the IV.

“Sit with him, Athos. I’ll clear up,” Aramis said.

“Is there an oxygen tank on board?” Anne asked.

“Yes. I’ll fetch it,” Aramis said.

Anne sat on the floor next to d’Artagnan, Athos took the other side, and picked up his hand. “How are you doing?”

D’Artagnan stared at him. “Been better,” he whispered.

“Don’t talk,” Anne said. She opened the sterile bag Aramis handed her, and put the mask onto d’Artagnan’s face, gently lifting his head to fit the strap around it. She adjusted the flow on the tank until she was happy with it. “This might not last the journey.”

“Nothing to be done about that,” Athos said. He squeezed the hand he was holding. “You bloody idiot. You held back to cover me. There’s no way I should have beat you to the jet.”

He looked up and found Aramis looking at him. His friend said nothing, but his expression was kind. Maybe d’Artagnan decided Athos was more important to the mission, or it was his natural protectiveness. Athos hoped that was all it was.

“Snowbirds, Mama bear here. Status?”

“Patient stabilised and on oxygen. Will need surgery ASAP. Losing blood fast.”

“Understood.”

D’Artagnan’s hand was limp and cool in Athos’s. The lad wasn’t unconscious, but not really awake either. Anne or Aramis had sealed the sucking chest wound and put field dressings over the entry wound, but inside, there had to be severe bleeding, damage to the lung, bowels, maybe even the spleen. Would they get him to a surgeon in time?

He realised Anne was looking at him. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said, formal and stiff.

She sneered. “Letting him die wouldn’t be a good look, would it?”

Any tiny amount of warmth or gratitude he might have felt, curled up like a dead moth and blew away. In any other situation, he’d insist on Aramis taking over from her, but while there was the smallest chance she might make a difference, Athos would hold his tongue.

The IV emptied just as they began their descent, but the oxygen was holding. The three uninjured passengers used their legs and the chairs to brace d’Artagnan for landing because the last thing he needed was to be flung around the cabin.

An ambulance was waiting on the tarmac as they taxied up, and two paramedics were on the plane in under a minute. Anne spoke to them as d’Artagnan was transferred to a stretcher, and then out of the plane.

“Aramis, you go with them,” Athos ordered. His friend nodded, and Athos watched the procedure, keeping his emotions off his face. “Mama bear, have you arranged transport for us to the hospital?”

“No, snowbird. Boss’s orders are for you and package to travel to original destination immediately.”

“No! I have to be here for d’Art...small snowbird.”

“Boss’s orders. Refuel, carry on. Sorry,” Porthos added.

“All right.” Athos grabbed Aramis’s and d’Artagnan’s day packs and ran down the stairs and to the ambulance. He handed them to Aramis. “We’re to go on. Boss’s orders.”

Aramis’s eyes narrowed. “Then we better do as he says. Good luck.”

Athos belatedly realised he hadn’t kept eyes on Anne, but she hadn’t moved except to leave the aircraft and move aside so it could be refuelled. “We’re still going to France,” he told her.

“Wonderful.”

“Why were they trying to get you back?”

She shrugged. “Who knows why the Russians do half the things they do?”

He got up in her face. “If he dies because of some damn game of yours, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

“I’m not playing a game, you fool. Do you really think I let them torture me for four days for fun?”

“Did they? Did they really torture you or is this all cosmetic?”

She shook her head and walked away. He could have restrained her, but being near her made him sick. “Mama bear, is the boss meeting us at our destination?”

“Affirmative, snowbird.”

“Then tell him once he arrives, I’ll be on the next flight back to Stockholm.”

“Will do. You okay, snowbird?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“I think you need to settle down, snowbird.”

Porthos’s deep calm voice helped Athos do that. He didn’t reply, but a couple of minutes later, Porthos came back on line. “Snowbird, boss says you can report and take the plane back straight after.”

“Thanks. Tell him thanks, and thank you too.”

“Not a problem, snowbird. I’m worried too.”

 _Constance_ , Athos thought. Did she even need to be told? And how would she react? “Mama bear, could you ask Constance not to contact our boy direct? He seemed to be taking it badly when he spoke to her.”

“Can do. Mama bear out.”

D’Artagnan might not even be conscious for hours. Aramis would have fun explaining the embedded sensors in his body to a bunch of civilian doctors, but they’d done it before. Better Aramis than him. But if Aramis were here, he could take Anne to France.

Refuelling was quick, and the two of them went back on board, to be confronted by the mess they’d left in the cabin. Athos picked up the blankets. Anne, to his surprise, cleaned up the opened packets and other detritus. “What?” she said as she dumped it all into the litter bin and found him looking at her.

“I would have thought you’d consider that beneath you.”

She threw herself into a seat at the front of the plane. “Do piss off, Olivier.”

“Those gunmen didn’t shoot at you. Funny that.”

She didn’t turn to reply. “What are you trying to say? That I arranged them? How, exactly? I didn’t know where you were flying to until after you took off.”

She had a point. He took a seat well away from her—childish? him?—and belted himself in. The jet was already taxiing, and for several minutes after take-off, all was silence between them.

But he had to ask. “Why didn’t you care that you got Thomas killed, Anne? Why was your criminal career worth more than his life or our marriage?”

“Does it matter now? We’re not married now. You don’t have a right to ask me this.”

“Thomas died because of you.”

“Thomas died because my employer tangled with the Russians and he was a cowardly shit who told them where I lived.”

“Which you could have predicted. Or at least thought of.”

“I was sorry Thomas died. But at that very point in time, I was trying not to be killed too. You didn’t seem to value my life very highly either.”

“That’s not true!”

She still refused to look at him. What was he doing? Expecting her to explain this long after the event?

He really, really wanted a drink.

He remembered the chocolate d’Artagnan had bought for him, and found it in his pack. The lad had done well. Babaevsky was his favourite. Looking at the packet made him think of d’Artagnan, and suddenly, eating his emotions seemed much less appealing, though he was actually quite hungry. “Mama bear?”

“Here, snowbird.”

“What’s our ETA and how is our wounded snowbird?”

“ETA is three hours ten. Little snowbird is in surgery. Will keep you advised.”

“Thanks, Mama bear.”

He put the chocolate away. He would share it with d’Artagnan when he recovered. Instead he found some cereal bars, biscuits, and jerky.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her, out of politeness and recognition of her help with d’Artagnan, however nasty she had been about it.

“Why, do you have some poison?”

“Only if you’re allergic to sugar.” He walked forward and offered her a selection. She warily took a cereal bar and some jerky. He left a packet of biscuits on the seat next to her. “There’s water in the bar and in our packs. Take what you want.”

She didn’t thank him, but then he didn’t expect her too. He ate some jerky in moody silence, wondering what fresh hell awaited him in Lyon.

And whether d’Artagnan would come through this or not. It had a near enough thing with Aramis, which reminded him of another thing to hold against his beloved _ex_ -wife.

Treville, as well as Cornet and Martin from team Cockerel, was there to meet them. “Anne, you go with them,” Treville said crisply, taking her arm.

She pulled away from his grip and stepped back. “Hang on. Am I under arrest? Where are the police, and what have I done wrong, if that’s the case.”

“You’re to be debriefed.”

“You are not my client. Like hell I’m telling you anything.”

She wasn’t scared, just furious, and Athos was horrified to find he sympathised. “There’s been some suggestion you may have been compromised.”

“You’re joking. They tortured, raped, and abused me for four days because I’m on their side? I’m not going with you, and I’ll kill the first person to try and make me.” The two agents drew their side-arms, but all she did was sneer. “Right, go ahead. I’ll love how you’re going to explain that to Queen.”

Athos found he couldn’t let them shoot her, as it turned out, and what she’d said about the ambush troubled him. “Jean, maybe you should let her speak to her client. Under observation.”

“No, that won’t work,” she snapped. “It’s above your security clearance, Treville.”

Since he didn’t tell Cornet and Martin to proceed, Treville was clearly as reluctant as Athos to shoot her out of hand. “Can’t we arrange something with DGSE?” Athos asked. “I mean, ultimately, this must be for them.”

Before Treville could answer, Anne did. “I don’t need anyone to ‘arrange’ anything, Olivier. I’m going back to my apartment to put on my own clothes and make my own calls, and if you have any legal reason to stop me, you better produce your justification now. ‘Compromised’, my arse. Who’s been feeding you this nonsense?”

Treville pursed his lips and didn’t answer. Athos very much wanted to know who it was too.

She looked at him, then his boss, and smiled contemptuously. “Right then. I’m off. Where are we, anyway?”

“Lyon,” Athos murmured.

“Fine. Then I’m getting back in that jet and you can bloody well take me back to Paris. This is kidnapping.”

“We _rescued_ you,” Athos pointed out.

“And I helped save d’Artagnan’s life, so we’re even.”

He growled. “You can’t use the jet. I’m flying back to Sweden in it.”

“You can drop me off then.”

Treville looked sideways at him. “Actually, Athos, you’re not. Queen wants you to stay here.”

Athos whirled, and snarled, “I don’t care. I need to be with my team. What’s left of my team.”

“You have orders.”

Athos walked towards Anne as he tossed a reply to Treville over his shoulder. “Bugger that. I quit. This entire mission is off. And I’m taking Anne with me. You’ll have to shoot both of us if you want to stop us.”

He took Anne’s arm and was surprised she didn’t fight him. They walked away, Athos waiting every second for a bullet in the back, or at least the shoulder, but no one tried to prevent them leaving the airfield.

He kept walking until they were outside the gates of the airfield. “Now what do we do?” Anne asked, all her bravado gone and leaving behind a simply tired, sore, anxious woman. “I don’t have anything but the clothes I’m wearing, I’m dirty and need a shower, and I don’t have a centime on me.”

Athos bit his lip. “I only have fake ID. Mama bear, did you catch all that?”

“Yeah.” Porthos didn’t sound happy. “Are you serious about quitting?”

“Deadly. I need transport for two back to Paris under our current IDs, and then to Stockholm for one.”

“Two. I’m coming with you,” Anne said.

“I don’t—”

“Please?”

Athos stared at her. There was no anger or disdain in her eyes, only desperation. “Make it two.”

“Will do.”

“Charge it to my credit card. We’ll head to Anne’s apartment, and if you could have someone courier my gear over from base?”

“Okay. The boy’s out of surgery. Naughty snowbird says he’s doing well.”

A little tension left Athos’s back. On such a crappy day, this was good news. “Thanks. Oh, any chance you could chuck in a pre-paid mobile for me? Two, if possible.”

“I can do that. A car should be pulling up for you shortly, booked under your current ID, to take you to Lyon Part-Dieu train station. I’ve texted you your booking info, and I’ll arrange a car at the other end.”

“Thank you. Uh, someone wants our package returned to sender. They might be using our communications to track it.”

“I’ll check it. Good luck, snowbird.”

Anne was watching him as he finished talking to Porthos and turned off the mic by pressing the switch in his jaw. “That system’s become a lot more sophisticated.”

“Not much use if people are using it to find us. Any chance you could cut the implants out?”

Her eyes widened. “I could leave you paralysed for life, if it’s connected to your spine or your brain.”

“They’re only implants in the jaw and shoulder. Biometry, comms, tracker. It’s the tracker I want gone or disabled.”

“Power supply?”

“It uses our blood sugar. Sits about here,” he said, indicating a point just above his left pectoral.”

“‘About’ isn’t good enough. I’d need an x-ray, at a minimum.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

He sighed, thinking it was ironic she could apologise so readily for this, but not Thomas. “Never mind.”

A sedan car drove slowly towards them. Athos moved protectively in front of her, even though he had left his weapon back with the gear still on the plane. Anne was in no state to fight back if these were hostiles.

But Porthos came online then to confirm this was their ride, and the driver was all smiles. The drive took twenty minutes, all of which Athos spent wondering what he had just done to his life. Tossed away a job he loved—mostly—for a woman he hated, and without giving Treville a chance to argue his case or talk to Queen.

But that was bullshit. He didn’t hate Anne enough to see her treated like a terrorist, and Treville must have known Athos would be furious at being kept from one of his team while they were in danger of dying. Athos had been bounced hard from the start, kept from thinking about whether what was planned for Anne even made any damn sense. Someone—Queen? Treville?—had counted on him being so angry about being asked to rescue _her_ that he wouldn’t ask enough questions about the rest of it.

Now he’d quit, he’d lost his leverage. Soon his communications with the company would be blocked, the fake ID he carried, flagged to authorities in case he used it again.

“Why are you coming with me to Sweden?” he murmured to Anne as they approached the train station.

“Why did you resign?”

“Because this stinks to high heaven.”

“That’s your answer. I need to know what the hell is going on, and, my dear ex-husband, you’re my only lead.”

“What about your employer? Isn’t it more likely to be on your end?”

“They’re not involved with your company, and as far as I can see, the hostiles were all reacting to your plans.”

Just like her to toss it back into his lap. “If you want our help, you put all your cards on the table. No secrets, no betrayals. No more fucking ambushes.”

“I’ll tell you what I can.”

“That’s not good enough, Anne. Not this time.”

“I can only promise that if I can’t tell you something, I’ll tell you why. But I’m not discussing this here. Not in France at all, if I can help it.”

He stared at her, but she seemed to be telling the truth. Not that he could trust his ability to judge her honesty or her emotions at all.

Porthos had booked them first class seats upstairs, which was quieter and less crowded. Athos sent mental thanks for that consideration. Anne settled in and appeared to go to sleep almost immediately, even though she had to be hungry and Athos had bought food for both of them after collecting their tickets.

She had been raped. Even in the depths of his worst, drunken loathing, he had never, would never, wish that on her or any woman. She needed to see a doctor.

She needed more care and attention than she had received, or was likely to receive. More than _he_ could give her.

Why the _hell_ was this happening? Who was she working for, and why did the Russians want her so badly?

And who was this woman he had been married to for five years, loved so insanely, so intensely, that it literally broke him when she turned out to be someone he didn’t know at all?

He wished he’d bought wine, or brandy, not fruit juice. But d’Artagnan was lying in hospital severely injured, and Athos would not turn up at his bedside drunk or hungover. Those days were over. D’Artagnan was the reason for that. Reverting to his previous self in an indulgent wallow over Anne’s reappearance would be stupid, selfish, and hurt those he loved.

But his heart was shards of broken glass in his chest as he looked at her, sleeping, in some pain, and in danger. It wanted to protect her, no matter what she’d done.

Could that still be love? Or was it simply indignation at what had been done to her, and to his team.

No one deserved rape or torture. He wished he could believe his side—former side—would never do such things. But after this morning, he was no longer sure.

*****************************

There was no chauffeur waiting for them at Gare du Nord, an unheard failure on Porthos’s part to do what he had promised.

“If we can persuade a taxi to go to my apartment—” Anne said, but Athos had spotted their driver and pointed.

“No, look. Over there.”

Porthos waved at them, wearing one of his beautiful smiles. He was a drink of water to a dying man in the desert. Athos walked over to him, unable to hide his own grin, and, mindful of the sling and ribs, hugged him carefully. “What are you doing here?”

“Courier duties. Also, I’m sick. Terribly sick. Unfit for duty for, ooh, say, weeks. I need a trip to Sweden to recover.”

“Hang on,” Athos said. “You can’t...I’ve _quit_ , Porthos. I can’t do this inside the company, and you’ll wreck your career if you involve yourself.”

Porthos shrugged. “Don’t care. Something stinks, and it ain’t just her.”

Anne raised an eyebrow. “And good afternoon to you, _monsieur_.”

“Don’t,” Athos warned the pair of them. “Porthos, we need to go to her apartment. She’s only got the clothes she’s wearing.”

“Yeah, I figured. Taxi’s waiting.”

Athos took Anne’s arm in his. She gave him a startled look, but didn’t protest.

They were at her apartment in fifteen minutes. She let them in, excused herself in a murmur, and disappeared at the speed of sound towards her bedroom. Athos set down the bags he was carrying, then helped Porthos to sit. His friend groaned a little as he settled.

“You’re in no fit state to be travelling.”

“I’m good. Just need to take more painkillers. Would you mind getting me some water?”

Athos did so, for both of them, and resisted the temptation to snoop. He’d never been in this apartment, but he had lived with Anne, and the little familiar touches were disturbing. He handed the water over to Porthos. “You’ve turned off your mic, I hope.”

“Oh yeah. Wish I could’ve turned off our trackers and all, but even Constance doesn’t have ultimate control of all that.”

“Someone told the Russians where the safe house was, and which airfield we were using. That had to be someone with access to our system.”

“Nothing to do with her?” Porthos said, tilting his head towards the bedroom.

Athos picked his bag of personal belongings and pulled out a clean shirt and trousers. He wanted a shower too, but Anne would probably scoff at a request. Or maybe not. “We found the tracker, so the first attack was to do with her, or at least her captors. No way could they have found us that way the second time. Even I didn’t know until we crossed the border, where we were going.”

“Should’ve left her there to rot.”

Athos understood Porthos’s anger—his lover had so nearly _died_ because of Anne—but Porthos didn’t know the rest of it.

“Don’t tell me you’re going soft on her,” his friend said when Athos didn’t reply. “She’s a bloody viper.”

“Yes, probably. It’s best we talk when we’re all together. But she’s been through some rough stuff—”

“Only what she deserves.”

“Like _rape and torture_ ,” Athos ground out, suddenly furious. “You think that’s right? To rape someone to get what you want? They had her hanging by her wrists when we found her. She’s covered in cuts, burns and bruises. And she’s been raped. Excuse me.”

He had to know. And he had to help.

Her bedroom door was open and the room empty. No sound came from the bathroom. “Anne? Do you need a hand?”

No reply. He knocked. “Anne. Please let come in. I want to help.”

The knob turned so he went in. She was sitting clothed on the closed toilet seat, weeping.  He crouched in front of her, and put his hand over hers, on her knees. With his free hand, he brushed the hair off her face that had come loose from her ponytail. “What do you need?”

“A drink,” she said roughly. “Anything to make me forget.”

The apartment was modern enough not to have a proper bath, only a shower, so he couldn’t suggest a soak. “Why don’t you wash and I’ll redress your injuries?”

“Why don’t you leave me alone? You hate me. He hates me too.”

“Your team shot Aramis. They all...dislike you for that, apart from what happened with me.”

She hung her head again. “I didn’t know about Aramis. It wasn’t personal. None of it was.”

“We can talk about it later. If you still want to come to Sweden, you need to clean up and pack. Even if you don’t, you need to wash. Do you have medical supplies?” He wasn’t surprised to note, on looking around, that there was a large first aid cabinet on the wall. “I’ll go outside.”

“No. Please, Olivier. I feel dirty inside and out. And I’m...scared.”

He brushed her hair back again. “Then I’ll stay. Tell me what to do.”

“Just be here.” She sniffed hard and rubbed her nose. “Sit here.”

She stood with his help, but he didn’t take her place. Instead, he helped her undress, undoing zips, hanging up the clothes, keeping his eyes on hers to give her privacy. He ran the shower, and she stepped underneath, her eyes closing as the warm water hit her skin.

He looked through her first aid cabinet and fetched out what he needed. He found her clean towels and dressing gown in another cupboard, and set them out for her.

She never wasted time in bathing, and she was just efficient and quick as she had been during their marriage. He wrapped a towel around her when she came out, which set her weeping again. He wiped her eyes gently with the towel he wrapped around her hair. “Can you manage?”

She nodded, so he left her to deal with that. Once she was dry, he went over her body carefully, deliberately clinical, removing old dressings, and cleaning and re-dressing the wounds with as much gentleness as he could. “You should see a doctor.”

“They used condoms. I’m bruised, but nothing worse.” He looked up to see fresh tears in her eyes. “Nothing worse than being raped, that is.”

He finished what he was doing, then stood and wrapped his arms around her. “You didn’t deserve that. No one does. Or the rest of it.”

“I thought you’d think I did.”

“I haven’t become _that_ much of a monster over what you did. I could have cheerfully throttled you, and may still do so, but not that. Never that. Never _cruelty_.”

She patted his shoulder. “You were never cold-hearted enough for this game, Olivier.”

“Probably not. You should get dressed.” He stepped back and handed her the dressing gown. “Any chance I could snatch a shower too?”

“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly allow you to do that after you saved my life.” She walked out with a trace of her usual haughtiness in her expression.

Athos shook his head, smiling a little. _Damn woman._

*****************************

D’Artagnan tried not to groan every time he moved, but seriously, it hurt, even with the pain relief he was receiving. He couldn’t sit up without help, he couldn’t roll over, and he definitely couldn’t get out of bed to piss. Being shot in the butt sucked.

“There you are.”

At the sound of a familiar voice, he tried to turn, and yelped at the jolt of agony. Firm hands steadied him. “Careful. Don’t tear your stitches.” Athos came around the bed so d’Artagnan could see him without effort, then bent and put his forehead against d’Artagnan’s. “So glad to see you alive.”

“Same here.”

“Hey, brat.”

D’Artagnan grinned as Porthos came into view and brushed his hair back. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you here, more’s the point. I can’t let you go on one mission without you getting shot?”

“Yeah. Maybe you shouldn’t get all broken up and injured so often.”

Porthos ruffled his hair. “I’m gonna go find Aramis, leave this bloke to talk to you. But I’ll be back later.”

“Thanks,” d’Artagnan said, already in less pain from the relief of seeing his friends. Athos, especially, since he’d had to take de Winter back on his own, and Aramis didn’t know what had happened since the two of them had flown out of Stockholm. At least, he claimed he didn’t know.

Athos found a chair and pulled it over. “How much pain are you in, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Most of the time it’s three. Unless I move and then we’re talking nine.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Charles.”

“You didn’t arrange the shooters.”

“But I should have been last onto the plane. You hung back to cover me, didn’t you?”

“Me?” d’Artagnan said innocently. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Athos shook his head with a wry look. “Is your mic on?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything from base since before this happened.”

“Try and turn it off, if you can do that without hurting yourself.”

D’Artagnan pressed his jaw to turn off the imbedded microphone, and felt it click. “It’s off now. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stay calm and quiet.” Athos put his hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder to hold him still. “I’ve quit Garrison. For good.”

Without the restraining hand, d’Artagnan might well have jerked in surprise. “What?” He managed to keep it low, but the shock was real. “Why?”

Athos kept his hand on him. “Porthos told me before we took off from Stockholm that I could drop Anne off, and return here directly. When I arrived in Lyon, Treville told me I had to remain, apparently on Queen’s orders. Anne kicked up a stink about being detained illegally, and I realised then that she was right. Treville had no authority, and no good reason to hold her. More than that, the attack in Latvia had to have happened because of a leak on our end. So I quit, and took Anne with me.”

“Holy fuck, Athos. You’re taking her part?”

“Yes, strange as it might seem. Don’t get worked up now.” He brushed his hand through d’Artagnan’s hair. It felt so nice. “Porthos agrees there’s something damn rotten in the state of Garrison. We need to know what’s going on. It’s possibly tied to Anne’s client, but she has no idea how, and she also doesn’t know what the Russians wanted. They were asking her stuff they should have already known. She doesn’t think they were regular FSB. Most peculiar of all, they weren’t after this bloody list she had.”

“Then, the whole thing was fake?”

Athos shook his head. “We—that’s Porthos and me—can’t work it out. The one thing we do know is that she really was tortured. And raped.”

D’Artagnan’s stomach flipped. “Jesus.”

“Yes.”

“Queen was trying to get her back, but also wanted to hold her in custody? This doesn’t make sense.”

“None of it does. And either Treville knows what’s going on and won’t say, or doesn’t know, in which case this is bigger than him and Queen is corrupt as is the company. In either case, I didn’t want to be part of it.”

D’Artagnan understood. “You want us all to quit?”

Athos reached for his hand, and held it as he answered. “I would never ask you to. But at the same time, this leak got you shot, and possibly, Anne captured. She is here with us, and has agreed to cooperate fully, to the extent she can.”

“You can’t trust her!”

“Calm down,” Athos said, putting a hand on his shoulder again. “I think we can trust her a certain amount. But we have to lose our trackers, and disable the microphones. Aramis is trying to work out how to do it.”

“EMP. Tell him [to build an EMP](https://www.electronicproducts.com/Power_Products/Power_Management/How_to_build_a_mini_EMP_generator_to_disrupt_electronics.aspx?id=200). Google it. Youtube. I made one years ago. They work.”

“An EMP. Perfect.” Athos looked at him as if trying to work out just how crappy d’Artagnan really felt. “I’m going to say one more thing, then go, because you need rest. If we disable our implants, you’ll lose contact with Constance.”

D’Artagnan’s back tensed up and he groaned as the pain ripped through him from his butt to his neck. He couldn’t speak until the agony subsided, and until it did, Athos watched him with guilty eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Athos said as d’Artagnan panted. “I didn’t mean to upset you that much.”

“Gimme a sec.” He squeezed Athos’s fingers for the long seconds until he was ready. “Okay.”

“We can leave it—”

“Athos, it’s all right. I won’t lose contact with her.”

“But you’ll be outside the system—”

D’Artagnan squeezed his fingers again. “That’s not Constance. Constance is dead. That’s just a computer programme pretending to be her. I hate it. I hate hearing it. It’s not her. It can never be her. She’s gone, and all that fucking AI does is remind me of what I lost.”

Tears fell from his stupid eyes. Athos wiped them off d’Artagnan’s cheek with his thumb. “I didn’t realise. We all thought you were happy to have her—it—as our controller. You said you were.”

“Yeah. I was happy. Until I had to work with it, and I had her voice in my ear, only it wasn’t really her, and it never truly reacted like her, and never felt like her, and won’t ever be her. Constance wasn’t just a voice, or a brain. She was a body, a smell, a feel, a laugh, a warmth. A touch so sweet....”

His throat seized, and Athos stroked his arm until he could speak again. “You can’t download a bunch of memories and replicate her voice and imitate her personality and tell me that’s my wife. She’s dead. This _thing_ sounds like her, pretends to be her. But she doesn’t care, doesn’t _feel_. She doesn’t get angry with me, she doesn’t argue with me, she doesn’t laugh for real, or cry. It’s been killing me, and I’ll be glad to be done with it.”

“Charles. I didn’t know. You should have said.”

“I wanted to. But you all loved her too, and it made you happy to hear her voice, and I thought, maybe I’d get used to it. But I can’t, Athos. I can’t. I miss her every second of every minute, and that damn thing makes it worse.”

Athos brushed away the tears again. “She helped to build it. She would never have wanted it to hurt you.”

“I know. We even talked about how it would mean she wasn’t really dead, when she was. It helped her, thinking that, while she was...dying. But she was wrong. She was wrong,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Athos stroked his hand through d’Artagnan’s hair while d’Artagnan cried, not saying anything, but offering comfort through his touch. It was the first time in weeks, months, that d’Artagnan felt remotely anchored, even though the misery weighed so heavily on him. Athos was real. The most real person or thing in his life now.

Athos wouldn’t let him fall.

*****************************

Athos waited until d’Artagnan fell asleep, before he crept away, feeling like a bastard. How had they not known what he was going through? Athos suspected _something_ , but he should have known. He should have _asked._

He couldn’t leave his friends—especially not this friend—behind. Even if he had to support the three of them and himself on his own funds, which he could easily do, he had to get them away from Garrison. What disappointed and confused him most though, was Treville’s complicity. Treville had known them all—except d’Artagnan—for years before he decided to leave the army and go private. They all trusted him more than their own families.

But Queen had her own agenda. Garrison had been set up by her and her husband, but they split up a year ago, and since then, Athos had had small niggles with every mission. Nothing like this one, but enough to make him question whether she really knew what she was doing.

This mission was different. Not just odd, but downright immoral. Treville would never have asked them to do this—forced them to do this—before. What had changed?

Anne might know, but how well did she know her lover? Were they even that close, or just occasional sexual relief? He had steadfastly refused to even think about their relationship. It made him want to get blackout drunk every time he was forced to.

Or it used to. The anger which had driven so much shameful behaviour had disappeared completely in the face of what had happened to her. Whatever her sins, her punishment had been far worse. Now he wanted her to be able to move on, and so would he.

Outside the hospital, he called Aramis. “Where are you?”

“Hotel. Do you want us to come visit our boy?”

“He’s asleep, so maybe later. Anne?”

“In her room. She seemed to feel she wasn’t wanted. I have no idea why.”

Aramis was a kind, forgiving sort, but Anne hadn’t earned his forgiveness yet. She hadn’t really earned Athos’s, but their background was more entangled. “We need her and we need to talk to her so, for the sake of sorting out this situation, can you be civil?”

“I’m always civil. I may not always be charming, that’s all.”

“As you wish. But she’s been through a lot the last few days. You might have some compassion for that.”

“I do. But she’s yet to show any compassion for what she did to you and to us. I am not an eternal font of love and kindness, contrary to impressions.”

“Not asking you to be. I’m getting a taxi now,” he said, hailing one while still talking, “so come to my suite when I get there. Okay?”

“Understood.”

“I’ll let her know.” Athos didn’t want to push his genial friend’s tolerance. Not over Anne.

Aramis hadn’t known Porthos would be coming the night before, although Porthos had told him accommodation had been arranged at the [Rival hotel](http://www.rival.se/en/the-hotel/), sparing Aramis having to stay in the hospital’s own accommodation, nice though it was. His look of happiness and surprise on his face was worth Porthos being sneaky over it, though it earned him a scolding from his lover.

Porthos had booked the two of them a deluxe room, and one for Anne as well, but Athos had been given a suite, so it was the natural place to meet in privacy. Treville had to know where they all were, but without letting Anne wander off on her own to fend for herself, there was no other option. Until they could disable their trackers, Garrison systems would find them wherever they were.

He texted Anne as he walked into the hotel to ask her to join him in his room, then let Aramis know he was back. Once in his suite, he ordered refreshments for four, and someone knocked on the door as he put the phone receiver down. He opened the door, and Anne walked in.

“How did you sleep?”

She shrugged and didn’t answer. “How is d’Artagnan?”

“Rough. Out of action for a good week, minimum. Aramis and Porthos are coming.”

She sat down. “Oh joy.”

“You could try apologising,” he said, taking the other chair. “He did nearly die. Explaining what that was all about would...ease some tensions.”

“If you insist.”

“Anne, we need you to solve this. You need us to keep you safe until we do. Be nice?”

Her upper lip curled. “Or fake it?”

“That’ll do. They’re good men. The best.”

“They’re your friends. They are, therefore, not mine.” She looked at his expression. “I’ll try to be pleasant.”

Another knock at the door—Aramis and Porthos. “Come in. I’ve ordered coffee.”

Aramis looked much less tired and strained, and Porthos grinned as he walked in. Then his friends noticed Anne. They looked at her without visible emotion, but pulled the stools away from her as they sat down, in a none too subtle gesture.

Athos sighed to himself. “Gentlemen, Anne, we need to pool our knowledge. By the way, Aramis, d’Artagnan suggests you look up how to build a small EMP to disable our implants.”

Aramis nodded. “Yeah, that could work.”

“But it might not be necessary. Anne, time to lay your cards on the table. Who were you working for, and what were you doing for them?”

She swallowed. “Could I have some water, please?”

He fetched a glassful from the bathroom, and handed it to her. She took it with shaking hands. He frowned down at her, but she didn’t acknowledge his concern. “Thanks.”

Athos sat. “When you’re ready.”

She sipped the water. “The client is the French government. A DGSE agent contacted me and said they needed someone outside the organisation to work with a potential Russian asset. They needed a list retrieved and brought back to France.”

“Why couldn’t DGSE do it?” Aramis said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I have. The mission when you were hurt was a contract for them.” She turned to Aramis. “I’m sorry about that, for what it’s worth. I had no idea your team had been assigned to protect that man.”

Aramis stared at her, unblinking. Gaining no response, she turned back to Athos. “Sometimes they need plausible deniability for political reasons. I’ve worked with them several times. I have a high level of clearance. Higher than any of yours.”

Athos leaned in. “I understand they might use you. But why for _this_? It sounds like a milk run.”

“The reason they gave me was that they needed a doctor—a real doctor and researcher—to win the asset’s confidence. The asset has a serious, chronic condition. I was given access to an experimental drug which could help them, and during their treatment, I was able to gain their trust, and was given the names.”

“You telling me DGSE don’t have any fuckin’ doctors working for them?” Porthos’s look was cold.

“It sounded plausible, the agent was someone I’ve worked with before, and it’s my job,” Anne said. “I did what was asked, and succeeded.”

Athos said, “And then you were captured.”

“I was stopped at the airport. Next thing I know, I’m being bundled into a van with a hood over my head, and driven off to where you found me.”

“What did they ask you?”

She sipped the water again, still with a tremor in her hands. “Who I worked for, my name, what I was doing there. I ended up telling them the truth.” She looked down. “Everyone breaks, they say.”

“Yes, they do,” Athos murmured, not without sympathy. “But if you told them what they wanted to know, why were they trying to get you back?”

She looked up. “I have no idea. And that’s the literal truth. The Russians didn’t ask anything I didn’t eventually answer, and nothing that they didn’t already know. I honestly expected to be executed by daybreak when you found me.” She turned to Aramis. “I’m sure you would have been heartbroken.”

“You do a dangerous job, as we do,” he said, flat and emotionless. “The difference is, we don’t open fire on our spouses, lovers, and friends.”

“No one was supposed to be hurt or killed,” she said, fire in her eyes. “I was just one person on that team, and I’d never worked with them before. DGSE assigned them, and hired me along with them. I was just there as medical backup. I’ve refused to work in a team again for anyone.”

“Why that man?” Porthos asked.

“I can’t tell you. All I know is that DGSE wanted him, you were protecting him, and we had to get him away from you. And the criminal gang who you were protecting him from. Is this relevant?”

“It appears you do a lot of dirty jobs without asking enough questions,” Aramis said, glaciers shifting in his tone. “And you don’t particularly care if someone innocent is hurt. Even if that person is your husband, or his brother. Or his friend.”

“It wasn’t personal! I never meant anyone to be hurt at all.”

“Well, that makes it all all right, don’t it?” Porthos growled.

Athos opened his mouth to ask everyone to calm down, but there was another knock on the door. He stood and moved towards the door, but Aramis put up a hand to stop him, then drew his weapon. “Abundance of caution and all that.”

Aramis stood behind him as Athos checked the door. “Room service.” He opened the door and allowed the waiter to bring in the trolley.

Coffee and excellent pastries eased the tension a little, but Anne and the men eyed each other like wary tomcats. Athos broke the silence. “We’ve been labouring under a misapprehension regarding d’Artagnan, I’ve discovered, somewhat to my shame.”

“Oh?” Aramis looked up from pouring his coffee.

“Our AI isn’t a comfort for him. It’s torment. Whatever else we do, if he remains with Garrison, it needs to revert to some other personality overlay. Hearing a simulacrum of Constance is worse than losing her in the first place.”

“Ah. That explains a lot. It was supposed to be a comfort. She wanted it to be one.”

“It isn’t. It feels like he’s being taunted, every time it speaks to him in her voice.”

“Poor sod. After all he’s been through.”

Anne kept her head down, but Athos noticed her confusion, so he explained. “You won’t know what we’re talking about. D’Artagnan’s young wife, a brilliant computer engineer, died five months ago. Before she was diagnosed with cancer, she had built on the work of others to refine a way to download someone’s memories, personality, speech patterns, so they could be used to build a human sounding interface. One which is indistinguishable from the real thing.”

“When Constance knew she was dying, she updated the download she’d already made for herself, and spent much of her remaining decent health building an AI for Garrison,” Aramis said. “So that d’Artagnan could still be with her in some sense after she died. He encouraged her. We all did. We honestly thought....” He turned to Athos. “We were wrong.”

“Because he married a woman, not a robot,” Anne said as if they were stupid for not realising it. “Of course it didn’t work. Have none of you lost a lover?”

“Not like that,” Porthos said. “We thought we was gonna lose him too.”

“It was three months before he could return to work, two months ago,” Athos said. “He didn’t tell us how he felt because he thought we wanted to keep her around.”

“We did. We do,” Aramis said. “Not at that price, though.”

“She was a great girl. Brave as a lion. Miss her every day, meself,” Porthos said. Aramis put his hand on his lover’s shoulder.

Athos looked at Anne, and wondered if she was thinking that no one would feel the same if she died. Anne thought emotional attachments made one weak. She wasn’t wrong.

There were a few moments of grief-filled silence, then Athos cleared his throat. “He’s going to be in hospital a while, so we need to move on without his help. The question is, where do we move to? I can’t help but think Queen is the key here.”

Anne sat up straight. “She would _never_ hurt me.”

“She was more than happy to have you held indefinitely and illegally.”

Her eyes narrowed angrily. “She would never hurt me like _that_. Someone else is behind this. Treville. He must hate me the way you all do, for the same reason.”

“You don’t know a thing about him and if you think he’d arrange for someone to be killed or raped or tortured, you’re wrong.” Porthos glared at Anne. She stared coolly back, but the hands around her cup were shaking.

“Treville is working at Queen’s command here. You saw it in that abomination of a briefing,” Athos said. “That doesn’t mean Queen is in control. Could someone be pressuring her?” he asked Anne. “How well do you know her?”

She opened her mouth, eyes flashing with fury, but quite suddenly she subsided. “Perhaps...not that well. We spend so much time apart. I know things are difficult with Louis and their son.”

“Difficult, how?” Aramis asked.

“Access. Louis not being there to discuss things. She doesn’t like to talk about it but a few times there have been phone calls and afterwards she’s tense and unhappy. I don’t ask about that part of her life. She doesn’t ask about my marriage either,” she said with a defiant tilt of her chin.

“This isn’t prurience,” Athos said. “But something has changed with her, and Treville either doesn’t know what it is, or doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Reckon he would help us?” Porthos asked.

“I wasn’t particularly polite to him before my departure,” Athos admitted. Anne snorted. Well, yes, that was an understatement. “On the other hand, he’s been straight as an arrow for the entire time we’ve known him and worked with him. Why would that change now?”

“Pressure,” Aramis said. “Find the right point, the right button to push.”

“Everyone breaks,” Anne whispered, and Aramis nodded, with slightly less chill in his expression than before.

“We should talk to him,” Athos said. “Porthos, you should stay here. You’re not fit, and d’Artagnan will need someone kind to support him. Anne, you should stay too. I don’t know if you’re safe in France at the moment.”

“Alone? Just with him?”

“Think I can’t protect you?”

“Athos just said you weren’t fit for duty. What are you going to do, choke someone with your sling?”

“I can—”

“Enough,” Athos said, glaring at the two of them. “Anne, it’s your choice. I believe you’re safer here, but if you have somewhere else you can go?”

“I could visit Treville on my own,” Aramis said. “I don’t believe he would hurt me, or have me arrested.”

“I don’t like it,” Athos said.

“Me neither.” Porthos sneered at Anne. “I can’t believe you need someone to hold your hand.”

Athos snapped, “Porthos, that’s _enough_!”

Anne stood. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have things to do.”

She walked out, back stiff as an offended cat’s. Athos was torn as to what to do. Run after her or bark at Porthos?

He decided to stay and shout at his friend. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you see she’s terrified, and with good reason?”

Porthos stared back defiantly. “She hired herself out as a rogue agent. Ain’t our fault it’s come back to bite her.”

“We have no evidence at all this is about _her_ and not Garrison. The leak is on our side. D’Artagnan was nearly killed because of it. Anne’s just another victim. Why are you so ready to throw her to the wolves?”

“Maybe I ain’t as willing to forgive what she’s done to us as you are. ‘Course, I wasn’t sleeping with her.”

Athos nearly hated Porthos just then, and even Aramis sensed his lover had gone too far. “That’s not fair, love,” he murmured.

“No, it damn well isn’t,” Athos said. “I’ll go to Paris. You two stay here, look after each other, Anne and d’Artagnan. I’ll wait a couple of days, so we can think about our options and see how d’Artagnan is doing. Until then, leave her alone. She’s got enough to deal with.”

“Yes, sir, anything you say, sir.” Porthos surged to his feet and stalked to the door. Aramis shot Athos a brief apologetic glance, and went after him.

“Jesus Christ on a bicycle,” Athos muttered.

He finished his coffee, tidied up, and put the tray out to be collected. Only then did he go out and knock on Anne’s door. “It’s me.”

It took her nearly a minute to let him in, and her expression was stony when she did. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“You’re here now.” She walked away from him to stare out the window. “What are your options, Anne? Is there anywhere you can go you’d feel safe? A friend?”

“Only with her, and that’s been taken away from me. I mind that more than what was done to me in Russia.”

“Then if you have to stay here, you’ll have to accept a certain level of resentment from them.”

“Over you. They hold a grudge over us as much as over Aramis being hurt.”

“They think I’m being led by the balls. I’m not. Losing Constance distorts their understanding of us.”

“You mean, true love never dies?”

“Something like that.”

“It doesn’t. It...changes.” She turned to look at him.

“Yes,” he said regretfully. “We’ve both moved on.”

Her eyes went a little distant, before she came back to herself. “Even if I accept a certain level of resentment, as you put it, they’re bugger all use if the Russians come charging into the hotel.”

“True. But they were tracking us so closely, they’d have tried by now. You’re not exactly hard to pick off here. None of us are. I suspect your main use to whoever’s behind this, was to engage us, and through us, Garrison. Not that you aren’t fully capable of irritating people enough to make them want to kill you in your own right.”

She almost smiled. “Of course. When will you two go to Paris?”

“I’m going alone, and in a day or two. Let Treville stew a bit, ask questions.”

“I should go with you, if you think it’s her, not him.”

“Time for that later. Or are you that unhappy about being left with them?”

She sat on the edge of her bed. “I don’t like being bored, or unoccupied. And this is my fight too.”

He sat on the armchair and regarded her. She was still fragile, unsteady. Vulnerable. But she was sharp, intuitive, and had been at this game a long time now. “There are three issues. One, whether you’ll be arrested if you try to re-enter France. Two, whether someone will try to kill you if you do. And three, whether you’re up to it emotionally.”

“I doubt it, I doubt it, and yes.” In answer to his lifted eyebrow, she insisted, “I am. I will be. Give me a day, two days.”

“I’ll give you three or four if you need it. You don’t have to decide now.”

“If I go, I go as an equal, not a ‘package’.”

“If I don’t think you can cope, I’m leaving you here. You can do what you like after that. You’re not a prisoner, Anne.”

“As good as one, until we find out what the hell is going on.”

“Your contact at DGSE? Did they say anything when you contacted them?”

“No. I gave them the list, and they were happy. All that crap about me being compromised seems to have been made up out of whole cloth.”

“Then Treville needs to know that.”

“Unless he already does. Your faith in him is touching, but possibly misplaced.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Her green ice glare told him that his observation was intensely unwelcome.

Since he hadn’t wanted to provoke, he made a peace offering. “Do you need anything now? If you want to go shopping for clothes or supplies, I’m free for a bit.”

“Olivier, do you realise that in the entire time we were married, you never once volunteered to shop with me?”

“Privilege of being an ex-husband, I suppose. Come on, put your coat on. I could do with the walk.”

*****************************

“You’re going back to Paris with her? Are you insane?” D’Artagnan paused to cough, and then to hold himself while the pain subsided. Bloody doctors insisted he had to cough, and that he couldn’t have any nice morphine just because it might mean his lung didn’t heal. Totally unreasonable. “Athos, she’ll betray you.”

“She hasn’t yet.”

“What about Aramis?”

“Ah. Seems that was more complicated than we were led to believe. I’m not here to argue. I just wanted you to know what we were doing, straight from me. You look....” Athos appeared to be struggling for words that weren’t ‘crap’, ‘horrible’, or ‘like death warmed over’. “More alert.”

“They’re not letting me out for at least two weeks. It’s not fair.”

“Sorry about that. At least you’ll have Aramis and Porthos to keep you company.”

“Great. We can sit around and talk about how worried we are that de Winter is going to get you killed or arrested.”

Athos was a Jedi master of unreadable expressions. “I wouldn’t be going if I thought it was likely that would happen. At least, not on her account.”

“You still have a tracker!”

“Yes. It’s not really possible to stay completely off the radar without Garrison’s help, so I thought it wasn’t worth the effort. The company isn’t law enforcement, and I’ve committed no offence, so the police won’t be interested in me. Or her, for that matter. Unless we want to spend the rest of our lives hiding in Sweden, this has to happen.”

“Wait until I’m able to leave, then. Let’s do it as a team. Please, Athos. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t handle it.”

Athos took his hand. “I feel the same about you. That’s why I’m doing this now. How do you really feel? Is it any better?”

“No,” d’Artagnan said a little petulantly. “And they won’t give me the good drugs. It sucks.”

Athos gave him one of his half smiles. “Then that’s an incentive to be cooperative and do whatever the doctors ask you. Porthos isn’t, and Aramis is on his back. Not a position I would want to be in.”

“On your back under Porthos? I dunno, he’s pretty fit.”

Athos pantomimed a swipe at his ear. “Behave. We’re flying this morning, and staying at her apartment. You have my number, and Aramis will always know where I am. Keep them in line for me.”

“Oh sure. I have so much leverage, stuck here.”

“The puppy eyes, Charles.”

“Like this? ‘Please don’t go to Paris with her, Athos’,” he said, giving it his all.

Athos grinned properly. “That’s the trick.”

“It didn’t work!”

“You don’t know how conflicted I am inside.” He stood and bent over to kiss his hair. “Behave. Be good.”

D’Artagnan looked up at him. “Be careful. Please.”

“I always am. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Huh. You’d better.”

He wished he had Athos’s confidence about de Winter. And he really wished Aramis or Porthos was going with them.

*****************************

As they settled into the taxi after leaving Roissy, Athos noticed Anne’s expression, her paler than usual face, and took her hand. “I guess we’re not wanted after all.”

“Unless they already know where we’re going.”

“I think we are no longer of interest. Relax.”

Her hand remained cold. He didn’t blame her for being anxious. He had been worried himself, and was still aware that the fact they had passed through the airport without trouble didn’t mean they wouldn’t be picked up somewhere else. But his experience in Special Forces, and then with Garrison, meant he knew that no one was truly safe if the government made a special effort to target them. That fatalism was freeing. He could only do what he felt was right, and hope to get away with it.

Anne was the same, normally. This fearful version was a reaction to horrific experiences, not her usual state of mind. She wouldn’t have come if she didn’t believe it might work.

He texted Treville from his new phone as the taxi headed for Anne’s apartment. _This is Athos. We need to talk_

A few seconds later. _What about?_

Cheeky sod. _Russian chocolate and leaky ships_

_You know where I live_

_Somewhere a little more public.[Angelina Rivoli](http://www.angelina-paris.fr/fr/) at four_

_I’m busy_

_How unfortunate_

No reply. “Is he coming?” Anne asked. Athos had make the reservation before they left Stockholm.

“He’ll be there.” If not, Athos didn’t know Treville at all. Which might mean the rest of his unwelcome suspicions were true.

He didn’t want to believe that. Treville had to be coming.

They changed clothes at Anne’s apartment, and, more usefully, acquired weapons. Though, if it came to a shoot out in one of the most popular cafés famous tearooms in Paris, the situation was a lot more fucked up than even Athos could credit.

“Do we turn up first or let him?” she asked.

“We do. He won’t allow himself to look eager.”

“What if he leaves when he sees me?”

“It’s a risk,” he acknowledged. “How are you doing?”

“Better. I’d be happier if you had disabled that tracker.”

“Feel free to cut it out anytime you want.” She pulled a face. “There you go.”

“You didn’t ask Aramis to build the EMP.”

“Why bother when Garrison and DGSE both have access to every CCTV in Paris? Treville already knows you’re here, I guarantee it.”

“Wonderful.”

They caught a taxi over to Angelina, which was packed as usual. Anne ordered thé mélange Angelina, Athos, thé Mont-Blanc, along with the establishment’s signature hot chocolate for which Treville had a weakness, and some macaroons and gateaux to nibble while they waited.

Treville was ten minutes late. Long enough to worry someone waiting for him that he might not be coming, short enough that it was obvious he had been just trying not to be there first. “Athos,” he said as he was shown to the table. “Madame.”

“I went ahead and ordered for you,” Athos said, since he knew it would annoy the man, and it was payback for being late and a snot to Anne. “Would you like some cake?”

Treville’s nostrils flared in irritation, but he sat down. “I’m here. What did you want to talk about?” A waiter put the hot chocolate in front of him, and Athos was childishly amused to see the flash of annoyance in his expression. “And why have you brought her?”

“She has a name, Jean. Let’s talk about why Garrison was prepared to illegally hold Anne prisoner indefinitely, without a shred of evidence for her being compromised.”

“I was working for DGSE,” Anne said in a low voice. “And they had no issue at all with my work or what I brought back.”

“So if DGSE didn’t want her, who did? And why does it not seem to bother you that we have a leak in our communications big enough to lose the Titanic in?”

Treville wouldn’t look at him. “‘We’ don’t have anything. You quit, remember?”

“And that doesn’t seem to bother you either. What’s going on?”

Treville took a long sip from his cup, then set it down with exquisite deliberateness. “Not in front of her.”

“Why not in front of me?” Anne’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m to have my civil rights violated, but you can’t tell me why?”

“Have you tried asking Queen?” Treville said sweetly.

“Don’t be a prick, Jean,” Athos said. “Someone’s manipulating Garrison—Queen herself—and you too, by the look of it. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t go to DGSE and put it to them that you’re a rogue outfit now.”

“Your friends still work for us.”

“Only technically. None of them trust you any more. None of us trust Queen. If you can honestly say you have full faith and confidence in her now, I’ll dance naked on the table, right now.”

The attempt at levity went completely flat. “I am not talking about it here.”

“And I’m not talking about it somewhere less public. Someone tried to kill my team a few days ago, and nearly succeeded. Don’t you give a fuck about d’Artagnan? Any of them?”

That got to him. “I can’t talk about it here. Damn it, Athos. Anyone could be listening.”

“Including Queen. I’m familiar with the sensation. Turn off your mic.”

Treville glared but Athos didn’t break gaze. Finally, Treville pushed on his jaw. “There.”

“Now the only people listening will be your own people, if you brought any,” Anne said sweetly. “What’s going on with Ana?”

Treville’s mouth set mulishly, so Athos pushed. “For the last year, especially this last six months, things have been off with her, the mission. This last one though was a mess designed by someone to make us look like bloody fools, and to hurt Anne. Hurting Anne hurts Queen. Who wants to hurt her? Or us? Queen wouldn’t want Garrison to look bad, so who does?”

“I don’t know.”

“You admit something is wrong.”

Treville’s eyes flickered towards Athos. “Yes.”

“Is Ana in danger?” Anne asked.

“I think so.”

“I need to see her.” Anne started to rise, but Athos put his hand on her shoulder. “Olivier.”

“Wait. Jean, explain.”

“The situation is complicated. I can’t talk about it here,” he said, this time with agitation in his voice. “Come to my house.”

Athos shook his head. “Come to Anne’s apartment. Your place could be bugged.”

“And hers isn’t?”

“Then arrange somewhere,” Athos snapped.

“And I want to see her,” Anne added. “Or I’ll just go to her apartment.”

“Only if you want her killed,” Treville said. Anne sat back, eyes wide and worried. “Give me twenty-four hours. And stay out of sight. This kind of stunt doesn’t help.”

He stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Next time, we should shoot him in the leg and he can have a taste of what being tortured and questioned is like,” Anne said, glaring at Athos.

“Not sure that would help. At least we know now.”

“All we know is that Ana is in danger, and I don’t trust him to keep her safe.”

“I do. He’s devoted to her, and that’s the problem. He’ll keep his word. We just have to wait.”

“I told you, I don’t like sitting around and doing nothing.”

“Twenty-four hours, Anne. Give him that.”

“I hope you’re right, Olivier.”

They walked back to her apartment, because they both wanted the exercise. Anne decided against the idea of going out for supper, but since she had never been much of a cook, they dined on shop-bought soup from her freezer. This was after Athos had used her encrypted internet connect to send an email to Aramis to update him on the situation, and he had talked to Anne about her DGSE contacts.

“You’ve never had a name of someone higher up?”

“Of course not. Marguerite isn’t using her real name either, I’m certain. Why do you think it’s DGSE who’s manipulating things?”

“I don’t. I’m just trying to work out who could be. And what benefit it would be to anyone. We’re not the only firm doing this kind of work, and there are any number of independent contractors like you.”

“None of them _quite_ like me,” she said with a little smirk.

“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged with a wry look. “It’s almost like it’s personal. Queen is Spanish, originally. Could there be a Spanish connection?”

“No idea. It could be Louis. It might be any number of things. A rival operator?”

“Why bother? There’s more than enough work for all of us.” Athos frowned at his laptop. “Aramis might know. He’s known her longest of all of us. They even had a fling a while ago, when the marriage went through a rocky patch. I don’t think it helped, though I don’t know Louis ever found out.”

“She’s never mentioned him, but we don’t talk about that stuff.”

“What the hell do you talk about then?”

Another smirk. “Who says we talk at all?”

“So you’re not really close. You just fuck.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He looked at the ceiling and she relented. “We talk, just not about her marriage or other relationships. Sometimes it’s about the job. Sometimes it’s about what she wants to do with Garrison.”

“Did she ever try to recruit you?”

“Oh yes. I prefer not to have superiors. I don’t work well with others, and especially not lovers.”

He gave her a sour look. “I can imagine.”

They sat on the sofa and watched television for a bit, with her curled up against him, and his arm around her. It was oddly asexual though. Her absolute lack of interest in sex with anyone was as clear as if she had held a sign up in front of her. She only wanted comfort, and he was happy to give it. He was always happy to cuddle.

When it came time for bed, he asked, “Do you want me to sleep out here?”

She sighed. “Don’t be an idiot, Olivier.” As soon as they were in bed together, she nestled against him, shivering a little. He held her close and wished he hadn’t killed her rapists so quickly.

“Has there been anyone else?” she murmured. “You do date, don’t you?”

“Not really. No time. No interest, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“The ones I’ve met who interest me, are already taken, so it amounts to the same thing.”

“Shame you’re not bisexual. You’d have twice the opportunities.”

“Yes, such a shame.”

She muttered something and tucked herself in tighter. He kept holding her and thought how little she knew about him.

*****************************

D’Artagnan tried not to squirm impatiently as Aramis gave him the gist of Athos’s report. “We should be there. At least, you and Porthos should be.”

“Porthos is still unfit,” Aramis said calmly. “I don’t know what I can do to help the situation in Paris.”

“Protect Athos, of course.”

Aramis raised an eyebrow. “Athos. This would be our super fit team leader who’s a crack shot and almost as dirty a fighter as Porthos?”

“Who’s working with that woman. None of us trust her. I don’t know why he does. Aramis, you have to go. Treville could pull a fast one if he thinks Athos and de Winter are a threat to Anne.” D’Artagnan winced as he tried to get comfortable. Aramis helped him reposition and adjusted his pillow. “Thanks.”

“This is why I need to be here, to stop you getting all worked up and hurting yourself.”

“Piss off.”

“Manners. I’m staying here until Athos orders otherwise. He was very firm on that point. Would you like to go for a little walk? The doctors said it would be good for you.”

“All right.” Walking hurt like hell, but the sooner his lung and everything else healed, the sooner he could be back doing his job, instead of lying here thinking about Athos and Constance.

Aramis helped him up and on with the new dressing gown that had appeared by his bed one morning. His friends had picked it up while shopping. “Where’s Porthos?”

“Exploring. He’s never been to Stockholm before.”

“Me either. Constance....” He swallowed. “We went to Malmo over the bridge from Copenhagen once, but we didn’t get to Stockholm.”

“Shame. It’s beautiful.”

“Don’t care now. What’s the point of seeing lovely things if you can’t share them any more?”

Aramis didn’t say anything for a bit, helping him shuffle along while trying not to yelp with the pain. When d’Artagnan begged to stop, Aramis helped him to sit, and took the chair beside him. “Constance would have been terribly sad to think you would turn away from beauty just because she died.”

“Well, then, she shouldn’t have died, should she? If she wanted me to live my life right, she should have stayed here.”

Aramis put his hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “She wanted to. She loved life. She loved you. She told me so many times how worried she was about what you would do after she was gone.” He squeezed a little, gently. “She hoped you would find love again.”

“No way. Never again. Not going through again. Not that anyone could ever be to me what she was.”

“No one would. But they could be good in different ways.”

“I don’t want anyone, Aramis. If Porthos died, would you just move on? Would it be easy?”

Aramis went quiet. D’Artagnan snuck a look at his face, and was surprised to see how pained his expression was. “He isn’t the first person I’ve ever loved. If he died, it would be...difficult...to move on. But I suppose having lost people I loved before, and found love again, gives me hope of finding someone again. We live long lives, Charles. God did not intend us to be without comfort.”

“Unless you’re a Catholic priest.”

“Even then. Celibacy is a special form of sacrifice. Not one I could ever make.” He gave d’Artagnan a sad smile. “I think to say at the age of twenty-nine that you refuse to love again, is unwise. Even Athos has come to see that the end of one relationship doesn’t mean the end of all.”

“His wife didn’t die. She just ran out on him.”

“He mourned her like she had, though. And said, like you, no more ever again.”

“Huh,” D’Artagnan said in disgust. “Now she’s back, worming her way into his life. She’s worse than cancer.”

“Agreed. For him, at least. But I don’t think they will get back together. I hope not. Ready for a little more?”

D’Artagnan allowed himself to be helped up so he could do a passable zombie impression—lurching, bandaged, dead inside. Aramis kept him at it for ten minutes, by which time he was grateful to find himself back at his bed and being helped back into it. Aramis laid a hand on his hair. “Athos will be fine. He’s worried about you, so the best thing you can do is get fit and well again.”

“The other people.”

“Hmmm?”

“The other people you loved. Did they all die?”

“One did. One fell in love with someone else. And the other one...well, she was someone else’s wife. I can’t complain about that relationship not going anywhere. We’re both happy with other people now.”

“But you know she’s happy. That makes a difference. If I...I don’t believe like you do. I don’t think she’s waiting for me up there. That’s what makes it so hard. Never...never seeing her again. So stupid...I worry that she’s lonely.”

Aramis bent to hug him. “Not stupid at all,” he murmured. “She won’t be lonely because you hold her in your heart. You always will. Thinking of her will come as easily to you as breathing for the rest of your life, and it will always hurt. But not always like this. One day you will think of her, and it will be okay. She won’t leave you in here. That I promise.”

“Don’t know what’s wrong with me, crying all the time.” But he didn’t let Aramis go.

“The injury, the drugs, the worry. You’re fine, d’Artagnan. You’re strong, and this is normal.”

After a bit, Aramis let him go, and sat down next to the bed, holding his hand. “Why don’t you talk me through building this EMP device?”

D’Artagnan rubbed at his eyes. “Okay. But maybe we can block the tracker another way. A safer way.”

“Safer is good,” Aramis said with a smile. “How do we do it?”

*****************************

“He wants you to wear a tinfoil hat.” Anne’s eyes were alight with amusement over her cup of coffee.

“Foil over the implant, yes.”

“In a hat.”

He tried not to grin. “Or a scarf.”

“That’s so inconspicuous.”

“Yes, I know. But d’Artagnan swears it would work, without the risks attendant on using an EMP. Or a GPS jammer, [which brings its own problems](https://www.gizmodo.com.au/2017/07/jamming-gps-signals-is-illegal-dangerous-cheap-and-easy/). I’ll hold the idea in reserve.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you let someone implant a bloody tracker in you, Olivier.”

“It’s supposed to help if we’re kidnapped or injured or lost. We’ve used it a few times. That was before I was afraid of my own employers using it to kill me.”

“You’re too trusting.”

Athos could have make a snide remark about Anne and Queen, but forbore. No need to start a fight, or spoil her brief good mood.

His phone told him he had a message. _AdW to meet AM incognito solo at 10:00[Angélina Lafayette](https://haussmann.galerieslafayette.com/en/angelina-13/)_

Before he could reply, a second message. _Od’A to meet JT at 10:00 Jeux de Boules du Bois de Boulogne_

“Treville wants you to meet Queen at ten in Paris Haussmann, in disguise and on your own. I’ll be meeting him in the Bois de Boulogne at the same time.”

“A trap?”

“Funny place for an ambush, but it’s not impossible. You have to decide,” he said, not pushing either way.

Anne pursed her lips. “If she can’t be seen meeting me, then going without you makes sense. No trackers on me. Not any more.”

“Quite.”

She thought for a bit. “Okay. But I’m wearing a gun.”

“I wouldn’t have it otherwise.” Athos sent a reply. _Both meets okay_

They had an hour and a half. “Do you have a disguise?” he asked.

“Olivier, please.”

While Anne was making herself up, Athos sent a message to Aramis. _If I don’t contact you by noon, do what you have to do to get the three of you away from France to safety_

The reply came swiftly. _Understood. Good luck, my friend_

They would need it.

An hour later, he and Anne shared a taxi to Galleries Lafayette. “Text me when you’ve made contact, and again when you leave. If you don’t hear from me by noon, make a run for it.”

She patted his cheek. “I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

He watched her walk away, wearing a flame-coloured wig, a ridiculous hat, and shoes that Anne de La Fère wouldn’t be caught dead in, and hoped she would be safe. He understood the logic of meeting separately, but he hated it all the same.

The January weather was foul—drizzling rain and bitterly cold—and he would have cursed Treville for arranging an outdoor meeting, if he hadn’t understood the necessity. Too cold for any boules players, but Treville was already there in the deserted games area, huddled into his coat on a bench. When he saw Athos, he stood. “Let’s walk.”

Treville set a good pace, which Athos was happy to match to stay warm. “So, talk. What’s going on?”

“Our system has been infected with a virus that gives a hostile entity a backdoor to our communications, and everything else. We can’t erase it, replace the AI, or repair it. You’re right. The whole thing is compromised.”

“And you knew this when?”

“Last night when I confronted Queen. She was the one who put the virus onto the system.”

“Bloody hell, Jean. Why?”

“She’s being blackmailed quite nastily, though she’s not sure who by. Her contact is a third party, who refers only to ‘Comte’. Her ex-husband and son are being held by this person. If she doesn’t do what they say, the two of them will be tortured and killed.”

“My God. Since when?”

“Since six months ago,” Treville said “At first it was minor stuff, presented more or less as a favour, though with the threat behind it. The virus was introduced just after we installed Constance’s programme.”

Athos huddled deeper into his coat. This was going to hurt d’Artagnan above and beyond all the pain he’d already suffered. “But to what purpose? If it’s a takeover, she could give this person the company and walk away, if it comes to it.”

“They don’t want that. They want to be able to use Garrison to work with the Russians. Queen told them she would never let that happen. That’s why Anne was taken and tortured. To punish Queen. And the rest of it too. Comte has made it very clear that they will do whatever it takes to control her, and they don’t care who is injured or killed to do so. Or how many have to die.”

Athos’s phone beeped—Anne confirming she had met Queen. “And she has no idea who they are?”

“None. The contact goes by the name of Marguerite du Sel...what?”

“That’s Anne’s DGSE handler. This fucker is DGSE?”

“Or the government,” Treville said, his eyes scanning the horizon in thought.

“We have to find out who this is. Du Sel is our only link, but Anne is sure that’s not her real name. No one in DGSE is going to give up one of their own people.”

Treville stopped to look at him. “How certain is Anne that her contracts have actually been with DGSE?”

“Er...no idea.”

“If ‘Comte’ is in the government, or can fake being in the government, this could be nothing to do with DGSE. I need a drawing or photo of this woman. Can Anne supply that?”

“I’m sure she’ll do her best. But if you run facial recognition, our system will make that known to ‘Comte’. Speaking of our system, how have you passed off meeting with me today?”

Treville grunted and walked on. “I’m supposed to be negotiating your return. Queen and I haven’t decided how to play it yet.”

“You assume I want to return, which I don’t. I want my team as far as possible away from this mess, with their trackers off, and communications blocked.”

“I can’t do that without the system logging it. I’m sorry. You could try surgical removal, given your status, but if the other three do it, it’ll cause Comte to act.”

Tinfoil hats were beginning to look like a sensible option. “Has Queen any idea where her ex and the boy are being held? In Paris?”

Treville shook his head. “No idea. She can’t use Constance to check geolocations of calls and so forth.”

“Go to DGSE. It’s a matter of national security.”

“She won’t let me, and she’s right, it’s too risky for her boy. What if this woman really does work for them?”

“Don’t you have one contact there you can trust?”

Treville pursed his lips. “I might. But it’s still a risk.”

“You have to do it, Jean. See if the name is familiar, and I’ll ask Anne for a sketch. This woman is the only way we’ll find out who is doing this. Too many lives are at stake now not to do something.”

“Yes. I, uh, owe you an apology.” Athos glanced at his boss, whose lips had thinned with distaste. “You were right, and I was wrong. I didn’t want to believe what my eyes and ears were telling me.”

“You’ve known Queen longer than you’ve known me,” Athos said. He was inclined to be gracious now he knew what pressures Queen and Treville had been under.

“No excuse. D’Artagnan and Anne paid the price.”

“If we can stop this ‘Comte’ I think they’ll forgive you.” D’Artagnan would at least. Anne held onto her grudges. “So, am I coming back to work for you?”

“I shall have to report that you’re being a stubborn son of a bitch over it, but I’ll persist because we don’t want to lose the other three,” Treville said, smirking a little.

“Oh yes, I’m very stubborn.” They shared a darkly amused grin. “I should go. Anne will be finished with Queen soon, and I want to be able to collect her.”

“How is she?”

“Raw,” Athos admitted. “What she went through was horrendous.”

“Yes, it was. You can apologise to her from me too, not that it’ll make any difference.”

“She’ll be glad to hear it.” At least, Athos hoped she would. “I’ll send that picture along as soon as I can, to that new number of yours.”

“Yes. Don’t use the other one for anything. Tell the others not to use their phones or comms at all.”

“We already worked that one out, thanks. Should I recall Aramis? Porthos?”

“Not yet. I like the idea of them being safe.”

“Agreed. Good luck, Jean.”

Athos strode off then, not looking back. If anyone was watching, he hoped they would take the right message from his body language.

He needed this damn tracker gone, now.

*****************************

“Is it safe for him to have the it removed without the records from Garrison about the device?” D’Artagnan was only too eager to get rid of his tracker, but the tech was new and not something most doctors would have ever seen before.

Porthos nodded. “De Winter says so and she’s a real doctor so.... Damn, to think some bastard went in and turned Constance’s work against us, to spy on us and get you shot. That’s the bit that makes me sick.”

“Yeah.” D’Artagnan wondered if his sense of wrongness about the AI with her voice had something to do with the virus. Constance had worked so hard on it. It had been a consolation to her that nothing else offered. “Um. I guess I should tell you something.”

“Yes?” Aramis said, leaning in. “You can trust us, you know.”

“It’s not about you, idiot. It’s just...something I’ve been hiding. Something I never thought I’d have to use. Constance—my Constance—gave me a key, a code, to kill the AI. Delete it completely from the server. Destroy it. I think she was so clever, she could imagine a situation like this. Or else she thought maybe I would want to, I dunno, walk away from it.”

“You mean, you can beat this virus?” Porthos said. “That’s great—”

Aramis put his hand on his lover’s arm. “Wait, love. By ‘destroy’, you mean, so completely it couldn’t be reinstalled?”

“Not on the same server. And all the learning it’s done since it was installed would be lost. The learning’s the valuable bit.”

“How does losing that—trashing her hard work—make you feel?”

“Like shit. But the AI makes me feel like shit too. Unless it’s the virus doing it. Anyway, what I feel doesn’t matter.”

“Does too,” Porthos muttered, reaching for d’Artagnan’s hand with his good one. “We can work around a corrupted system. You don’t have to do something that’s gonna hurt that bad.”

Porthos’s touch was calming, an anchor for his roiling emotions. “Like you said, Constance’s work being used against us is what really hurts. She would tell me to use the code right now. She never put her programming above people. She wanted to protect me. All of us. She loved you guys too. So, I should use it, right?”

“No, wait,” Aramis said. “If the system goes down, then that will tell this ‘Comte’ that he’s been found out, and he or she will run. We have to stop them, not just for Queen’s sake, but for France. I’ll tell Athos what you have, and ask him what you should do. Be very sure, Charles.”

“I am. I know what she would want. I know what I want too. The programme isn’t her. It never will be. My Constance could never have been forced to betray us. That’s the difference.”

Porthos squeezed his hand. “Well said. She’s up there in your head, and in your heart.”

“And forever,” Aramis added quietly. “Would you both excuse me while I go send the message? This can’t wait.”

“How are the ribs?” d’Artagnan asked, when he and Porthos were alone.

“Better than yours,” Porthos said, grinning. “I can take this bloody sling off in another week. I want to be fit to back Athos up.”

“What Aramis said about going dark...I guess that means we can’t have our trackers removed yet either.”

“Guess not. Anyway, so long as the bad guys think we’re here, they’ll leave us alone. Which sucks for Athos, but it’s good for us wounded. Aramis could go back. If Treville’s on the case, they might not need us though.”

“I hate this. Sitting around, worrying, feeling damn useless.” D’Artagnan shifted position and swallowed a yelp. He couldn’t even rearrange his own pillow.

“You’re not useless if you can take down the system with the virus. It’s gotta be you, right?”

“Yeah. Voice recognition, and a series of numbers only I know, and a phrase.”

“Better keep quiet about that then. If anyone finds out it’s gotta be you and only you, that makes you valuable. And dangerous.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “Thanks, mate. I wasn’t feeling shitty enough as it was.”

“Sorry.” Porthos reached into his pocket. “Fancy a card game?”

“How many thousands of euros do I owe you already, _monsieur le tricheur_?”

“You want a chance to win ‘em back, don’t you?”

*****************************

Anne was a lot more worried about this than Athos was, and he was the one being cut into. He stared up at Anne leaning over him and said, “I trust you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve spent all of the time since we split up hating my guts, and I haven’t operated on anything bigger than a splinter since then.”

“Yes, but I trust you, because you need me. Your girlfriend needs me. Therefore, you won’t screw it up.”

“Shut up and stop moving.”

So he kept his mouth shut. The process of numbing up the area under his jaw in which the subcutaneous tracker was imbedded had not been fun, but Anne had just jabbed a probe at the area and Athos had felt nothing. Anne had an X-ray to work from, and had already reluctantly agreed that since no bone was involved, and no tissue was actually to be removed, it should be simple enough to remove the device.

But that was before she had him lie on the bed, sterile clothes around the area, and his shaved skin swabbed with Betadine. Seeing her uncertain like this was a novelty, and not a pleasant one.

She worked in silence, and with an efficiency that belied her claim of being rusty. An assistant would have helped, but Aramis was still in Stockholm and for increasingly urgent reasons, had to stay there.

Something clunked into the kidney dish. “Out. Just have to stitch you up and dress it, and then you take the antibiotics for a week.”

“Good.”

She made him stay flat once she had finished, just to be sure his blood pressure was fine. She showed him the small black disk that had come out. “I only put in four stitches,” she said. “It’s tiny.”

“Had to be, I suppose. Thanks.”

“Don’t ask me to do that again, Olivier.” She walked away and he heard her stripping off her gloves with loud snaps. She went to her bathroom and slammed the door. He hoped she wasn’t throwing up.

She returned ten minutes later, somewhat more composed, and helped him sit up. “You’ll need to sleep propped up to avoid bleeding,” she said. “But it should hardly leave a scar. Try to avoid bending over as much as you can.”

“I will. Thank you. I wouldn’t have asked you if it hadn’t been important.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed if it hadn’t been for Ana.” She sat on the bed. “How much longer, do you think?”

Treville had taken Anne’s sketch to his DGSE contact, and had been able to establish that ‘Marguerite du Sel’ no longer worked for the secret service, or in the civil service at all. Her real name was not what Anne had been told—no surprise there. The delay was in locating her, and gaining permission for Athos and Anne to contact her.

In the meantime, Athos had decided that tinfoil hats and scarves were not going to do the job, and had obtained an X-ray as Anne had directed. Being able to move without Garrison’s system tracking him was crucial. Anne could not do this on her own. Maybe once she could have, but not now. Seeing her lover had both comforted and upset her, but she wasn’t yet stable enough—by her own admission—to do this alone.

“I think we should hear in the next twenty-four hours.”

She rubbed her arms. “It’s not me I’m impatient for, it’s Ana. The closer we get to uncovering ‘Comte’ the more risk to her son, and Louis. Her son is her life.”

“And we’ll get him and his father back safely, I swear. What will you do when this is over?”

“Hmmm?”

“I mean, will you go back to security contracting?”

“Maybe. I don’t...I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just want her to be safe, and to be with her.”

“It’s the real thing then. Not just a fling.”

“Not just a fling,” she repeated rather distantly. Strange to see her like this. He had spent so long thinking of her as heartless.

“You should have come back,” he said. “We could have worked it out.”

Her attention refocused on him. “Not with a dead brother lying between us. Not with your anger. Not with the Russians still after me. If I’d come back, you’d have had to give up your job, and you wouldn’t have.”

“I would have for you.”

She gave him a wry smile. “You would have, for a while. And then you’d have hated me for that.”

“No.”

“It’s moot now, Olivier. You love someone else now too.”

“I never said that.”

“You implied. Doesn’t matter.” She rubbed her arms again. “I’m putting the heating up.”

She had complained of feeling cold ever since they had brought her back. If anything, the apartment was slightly too warm, but he wouldn’t complain if more heat helped her feel safe. He wondered how Queen would handle this new, fragile version of Anne. It unnerved him to see how much the confidence had been knocked out of her, though she made a good fist of hiding it most of the time.

She sat next to him on the bed after adjusting the thermostat. “I think I’ll shave the rest of the beard,” he said. “Maybe get a haircut. Won’t fool facial recognition, but it might make me less obvious.”

She hummed in agreement. “I want to know how many people this ‘Comte’ has working for him. And how many DGSE staff they’ve subverted.”

“Yes. That is rather the most important question after his identity. That’s probably what’s taking the time.” His phone pinged, and she handed it to him. “Message from Treville. He wants to meet. Brilliant timing, Jean,” he added, touching the bandage over his jaw. “Am I allowed, doctor?”

“So long as you don’t exert yourself. Tomorrow would be better.”

“I’ll ask him to call.” Athos sent the text, and waited. The phone rang seconds later.

“We have a location for du Sel, and the go-ahead to question her, though DGSE get her afterwards. But we have to move fast, Athos.”

Athos didn’t bother asking Anne’s opinion. He could always bleed on the woman if necessary. “When? I’ve just had the tracker removed, by the way.”

“Ah, excellent. Then tonight. She should be back at her apartment by seven. I’ll text you the address. Bring Anne.”

“Of course. What will we do if she doesn’t break?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We can toss her back at DGSE, and kill our system, but that doesn’t help Anne’s ex or her son. DGSE can’t be sure that ‘Comte’ has no other connections inside the department.”

“Wonderful. Can she be given immunity from prosecution if she cooperates?”

“Yes, but she’ll lose her security clearance, which will mean losing her current position. Maybe that’ll be worth not going to prison for a very long time.”

“Perhaps she didn’t know what Comte was up to.”

Treville grunted. “Unlikely. So, we just try very hard to persuade her, or otherwise hope DGSE can keep her arrest quiet.”

“Sounds like we only have those options. Unless there’s another way to find out where the kid is.”

“Nothing comes to mind. I’ve sent the address. I’ll meet you across the road at nineteen hundred hours.”

Treville hung up. Athos gave Anne a summary of what he’d said. “We can’t endanger Ana’s son!”

He put his hand on her arm. “Anne, if we don’t convince her to talk, DGSE will. They’re only holding off out of courtesy to Treville and for the sake of the child, I’m certain. She’s a traitor, working for a traitor.”

She swung off the bed, the better to glare at him. “Does Ana know about this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I’m calling her.”

“No! Anne, you can’t. Her phone’s not secure. I’m sure Treville’s discussed with her. Calm down.”

“If it was your son, you’d be worried.”

“It doesn’t have to be my son for me to care. I’m not a sociopath. Sit down, will you? It’s a mess, but this is our only option. Unless you can think of a way to find the kid and his dad.”

She pursed her lips. “No. God, I hate Garrison! This is all your fault. Your company’s fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault except Comte’s. Calm down.”

“Stop saying that. I’m not a child.” She walked out of the bedroom. Athos lay back on the pillows, trying to think of another option. Other than tailing this du Sel woman, or bugging her house or her clothes, he couldn’t think of one, and that might be too slow. Who knew what Comte was up to, or how quickly they might act?

After a bit, he went to find her. She was in the living room, sitting at the table, head in her hands. He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about the situation.”

“A lot of good that does her.”

“Ana’s a big girl. She could have confided in you, or Jean. Gone to DGSE right from the start. She had choices, even though they were limited. That doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to help save her loved ones, but she’s not entirely innocent here.”

“How very like you, Olivier. Making sure the victim is blamed as well.”

He lifted his hand and walked away. She was being unfair and dishonest, but he didn’t want to start a fight with her.

He missed his team. He missed d’Artagnan. He couldn’t wait for this crap to be over and reunite with them all.

Du Sel lived outside Paris, in a large apartment block in Bobigny. Treville let them into his car when they showed up. “DGSE is ready to move in as soon as we finish. I’m wearing a mic for them. Her real name is Carlotta Mariani. Her parents are from Corsica, but live in Marseille now. We can use them and her brother, Antonio, as leverage.”

“We’re just as bad as she is,” Anne muttered.

“With the exception that we won’t actually do anything to them, or do what was done to you.” Anne didn’t reply. “She’s probably armed. Athos, you go first, since she doesn’t know you, and we’ll go after, as soon as she opens the door. I have a fake police ID for you to show her.” He handed the badge over his shoulder to Athos. “Anne, are you up to this? It could get nasty. We have to learn what she knows.”

“So long as torture and rape aren’t involved, I’ll be fine.”

Treville nodded, his eyes sympathetic. “Then let’s go.”

Athos spoke into the intercom at the building entrance. “Miss Mariani? I’m Inspector Jacques Lafitte from the Bobigny commissariat. I need to speak to you concerning your brother, Antonio.”

“Oh, my God! Yes, come up, please. It’s three oh two.”

Athos walked ahead of Anne and Treville who hung back until the woman opened the door. Athos was just spinning a yarn to her, keep the door from being closed, when the other two rushed up behind him, and he drew his pistol and aimed it at her, pushing her back into her apartment.

“Sit down, Miss Mariani.” He forced her backwards towards an armchair. “Anne? Check her for weapons.”

Anne did so efficiently. “Weren’t expecting to see me, were you, Marguerite?” She removed a small pistol, and the woman’s phone, before forcing her head forward and yanking her arms behind her to cuff them. She was quite rough with her, which was a deliberate tactic in itself, but Athos couldn’t help but think some of it was payback. She took up position behind Mariani, her hands on either side of the woman’s head to force her to look forward.

Athos swung a kitchen chair in front of Mariani, and sat on it backwards to face her. “Tell us who Comte is.”

“Who?”

“Wrong answer. We know you work for Comte. We know he is holding a child and a man hostage to blackmail Ana Mauricia. We know he is a Russian agent. We know you and he are both traitors to France.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“So you’re willing to take the fall for kidnapping, extortion, and treason, while he skips back to Russia free as a bird.”

She went a little pale. “I have done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t think the court will see it that way,” Treville said, coming to stand beside Athos. “You handed over a virus which you forced Ana Mauricia to install on her company’s internal server, which has been verified to be Russian in origin. We have evidence that you colluded in the kidnap of her son and former husband. You passed information on to the Russians leading to the serious injury of a French citizens and a brutal assault on another. You’re going to prison for a very, very long time.”

“You can’t touch me,” she said smirking at Treville. “He’ll protect me. He’s a very powerful man.”

“So it’s a ‘he’,” Athos said. “Unfortunately, Miss Mariani, men like that, in a position of power which they do not want to lose, have one sure-fire way of making their underlings stay silent. You won’t make it to a trial once you’re arrested. And you are going to be arrested. As soon as we’re done, agents from your old department are going to come and take you away. They’re also arresting Antonio and your parents at this very moment, on charges of being accessories to kidnapping.”

“No! They know nothing!” She tried to rise. Anne shoved her back down hard. “You can’t arrest them.”

“Of course they can,” Anne snapped. “They can arrest everyone you’ve ever talked to, everyone you love, everyone who cares about you. And they will, to root out this man. So talk.”

“He’ll kill me,” she whispered.

“Yes, he will,” Treville said. “Unless you’re offered witness protection until he’s captured and sent to prison. There’s an offer of immunity on the table, Miss Mariani, but only in exchange for your complete cooperation. We want names, we want places, and we want the child and his father. Less than that, and you’ll be the sacrificial lamb. Comte will walk free, and you’ll be the one who is either killed or sent to a high security prison for the rest of your life. You’re only twenty-eight. That’s a very long time to stare at concrete walls.”

She swallowed. “You promise to protect me?”

“If you cooperate _fully_ ,” Athos said. “One lie, one hidden truth, and the deal is off, and we toss you in the trash where all traitors belong.” Behind the woman, Anne raised an eyebrow. Maybe that line was a bit florid. But then he thought of d’Artagnan in pain, and what had happened to Anne, and considered, no. It was exactly what he meant.

“Talk,” Anne said. “Who is Comte?”

*****************************

“His name is Étienne Rochefort,” Aramis read to d’Artagnan from the laptop. “He’s a billionaire adviser to the president, apparently. Also Queen’s ex-suitor, oddly enough.”

“Why the fuck would someone that rich want to sell out his own country?” Porthos muttered, as d’Artagnan nodded.

“Friend of Putin’s? I don’t know. This Marguerite woman doesn’t know exactly where Queen’s son and ex are being held, but she knows the area and that it’s a farm. DGSE are searching now.”

“And Rochefort?” d’Artagnan asked.

“They need to hit him as soon as the boy and his father are safe. That’s where you come in. Athos wants you to be ready to kill the Garrison system on his signal. Then the rescue will take place more or less simultaneously with the raid on Rochefort’s office and home.”

“I can do that, but damn it, Aramis, we should be there. You should go, you and Porthos.” His friend had just stopped using the sling, and was, theoretically, ready to go back to work.

“Can’t,” Porthos said. “If we leave Stockholm without you, Rochefort will know something’s up. Until the AI is dead, we can’t do a damn thing.”

“I can fly back with you. I can walk and everything now.”

“As far as the _toilet_ ,” Aramis said.

“I walked without you yesterday. Down the corridor and back. I only need to fly to France, just so you guys can leave Sweden.”

Aramis leaned over and ruffled his hair. “Athos would murder us. I want to help as much as you do, but right now? This is all we can do to assist. As soon as it’s over, you can either fly back or he’s coming here.”

“And all the time he’s staying with that bitch,” d’Artagnan said, pulling away irritably from Aramis’s hand. “He’ll be a mess.”

“He sounds all right, actually. I don’t know why, but he’s not letting her get to him. I’m as amazed as you are. Maybe because she’s with Queen now?”

“We should be feeling sorry for Queen then,” Porthos said with a growl.

“I feel sorry for both of them, in different ways,” Aramis said. “De Winter did go through a dreadful experience.”

D’Artagnan didn’t comment. Anything he might say would be too unkind. “When is this supposed to happen?”

“We don’t know. Rochefort’s agent has been left in place not to arouse suspicion, but she’s bugged in every way known to mankind, so if she tries to alert him, we’ll know.”

“Can we trust her?” Porthos asked.

“Athos says she’s doing it to avoid prison and to stop her family being involved too. I would say yes,” Aramis said. “As much as anyone can trust someone who would do this kind of thing for money.”

“Not at all, then,” d’Artagnan said. Aramis shrugged.

*****************************

Athos had always known he and Anne were polar opposites in many things—he’d realised there were even more than he’d known about after Thomas’s death—and patience was certainly one of them. Though she was perfectly capable of long-term planning, she could not bear to wait, to be patient, even over small matters. She would do it, but it put her under immense stress.

He, on the other hand, was like the Sphinx. He had a higher boredom threshold than any of this team, nearly higher than Treville’s, and could wait quietly, enduring, until action was needed. It had served him well in the army.

It was driving Anne insane. “We should call Treville.”

“No,” he said for the third time. “Poking won’t make this happen faster. They have to be careful, and slow, or the people guarding the boy might just shoot him in the head.”

“We could help—”

“Anne, please.” He was on the couch, keeping his head up per her instructions. “Come and sit with me.”

“I don’t want to bloody sit, Olivier. I want to _do_.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

She growled. “Fuck off.”

She paced like a caged lynx. It was annoying. Athos had plenty of patience with annoyance, when he needed it.

His phone rang, and Anne jumped. “Jean?”

“We think we have the location. Time to kill the system.”

“Texting d’Artagnan now.”

*****************************

D’Artagnan snatched up the phone and read the message. “I’m doing it now.”

Aramis put a hand on his foot, while Porthos kept his gaze steadily on d’Artagnan. They had sat there all morning, waiting, and would have waited all day, all night, if they’d had to.

He turned on his mic. “Good morning, Constance.”

“D’Artagnan! Long time no hear from.”

“I know. Constance, it’s time to die. Code 2324.”

“Code 2324 accepted.” The AI’s voice lost all warmth, all personality. “Proceed with activation code.”

“One zero zero nine two two. Confirm.”

“One zero zero nine two two. Activation code confirmed. Proceed with execution code.”

“Two two zero 2 two three. Confirm.”

“Two two zero 2 two three. Execution code confirmed. Shall I implement scorched earth?”

“Yes. Until the heat death of the universe.”

He heard three tones. “Scorched earth protocol implemented. Goodbye, darling.”

The last two words were suddenly Constance again, taking his breath away. His vision blurred with tears as he waited for confirmation that the AI installation had been completely deleted.

A minute later, “Good morning, Charles D’Artagnan. How can I be of assistance today?”

The voice was a generic, computer generated male voice.

Constance was gone.

He put the phone down. “It’s, uh, done. Aramis, could you...?”

Aramis squeezed his foot, then picked up the phone to text Athos back. “You all right, kiddo?” Porthos said quietly.

“No. I’m not.”

He put his arm over his eyes, and wished there was a way to do a scorched earth on his heart too.

*****************************

“It’s done,” Athos said. Anne grabbed her handbag and ran to the door. Athos managed to snag her arm.  “Whoa, wait. Where are you going?”

“To Ana. She’ll need me.”

He let her arm go. “Good luck.”

A curt nod, and she was gone.

Athos called Treville and told him the news. “Come with me to watch Rochefort being taken down?” his friend said. “I’m on my way to pick you up. Five minutes.”

That gave him time to put his coat on, pick up and check his weapons, and go downstairs. He couldn’t suppress the excitement building in his gut. Was this finally it for this bastard.

Treville was a minute early. “Where are we headed?” Athos asked as they drove off.

“La Défense.”

“And the boy?”

“Just waiting to hear. DGSE won’t go in until we know they’re safe.” Treville took a hand off the wheel to hand Athos his phone. “Take this. I’ll receive a text when it’s done.”

With heavy traffic, it would take them at least half an hour to reach Rochefort’s office building. Treville drove in silence, his expression uninformative as usual. Athos wondered if Anne had found Queen, or what she was doing. It felt strange to be apart from her, after such an intense few days being in each other’s pockets.

Treville’s phone beeped. _Hostages rescued, safe. Good to go._

“They’re out and safe. The raid can go ahead.”

“Thank God,” Treville said. “We’re nearly at the rendezvous.”

Athos had just enough time to let his team in Stockholm know what was happening before Treville pulled up near a group of anonymous cars near a brand-new office building. “Hope you have your ID,” he said as he got out of the car.

Athos did, and showed it to the agent taking charge. “You two, stay behind us,” the man told them sternly.

DGSE had all the exits covered. Four agents—two men and two women—plus Athos and Treville, rode the elevator to the top floor, the entirety of which was occupied by Rochefort’s company. A receptionist at the front desk made to stop them walking in, but she was quickly taken in hand by one of the female agents to stop her warning anyone.

“Where is Rochefort’s office?” the lead agent barked at the receptionist.

“Th-third, down there,” she pointed with a long-nailed, shaking hand. “The end one.”

The agent nodded to the woman keeping the receptionist under control, then stalked down the corridor, lined with glass windows where minions watched the five of them with fascinated horror. He flung open Rochefort’s office door, and found another receptionist/secretary forming a barrier. Silently, one of his people peeled off to sit on her. The lead agent charged on.

In the inner sanctum, Rochefort was sitting on a chair with his hands up the skirt of a young blonde woman, who jumped back when the door was flung open, and nearly fell. She did fall when Rochefort shoved her to spring to his feet. “Who the hell are you?”

“DGSE. Etienne Rochefort, you are under arrest—uh uh, hands where we can see them.” Rochefort froze with one hand still inside his jacket. “Would one of you gentleman care to relieve him of any weapons and devices?”

That referred to Treville and Athos, so Athos had the pleasure of putting his hands on his nemesis and stripping him of not one but two guns, a knife, and two mobile phones. He wasn’t particularly gentle about it either, his eyes boring into the watery blue ones of the weapons’ owner. All he saw was pure hate, but then, he hoped Rochefort could see the depths of Athos’s disgust in his own.

He handed the weapons and phones to Treville. The lead agent nodded. “As I was saying, Monsieur Rochefort, you are under arrest for espionage, kidnapping, and extortion.” He stepped forward to cuff the man, while his second kept a gun trained on him.

Rochefort didn’t protest, or claim to be unaware what was happening. He simply sneered at everyone as he did the perp walk past his secretary, past his minions, past the receptionist. In the lobby of the building, workers had gathered out of curiosity at the large number of people with guns, in and out of uniform, and gawked in undisguised interest as Rochefort was marched past them.

He was put into an unmarked car, and two of the four agents went with him. The lead, whose name Athos was never given, nodded at them with a tight smile. “I believe that concludes this part of the operation, gentlemen. Good work.”

“Thank you,” Treville said. “You know where to find me if you need any more from Garrison.”

“Not at this stage. Your documentation has been most thorough. Good day.”

He and the other agent got into another car, and drove off. “Is that it?” Athos said. “Will he walk?”

“Not this side of the grave,” Treville said. He dialled a number on his phone. “Ana, are you with them?” He listened, then smiled. “I’m so happy for you. Is Anne with you? Good. Yes, I think so. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about Garrison.” He hung up. “She is with her son and ex, and with Anne. They’re all going to an undisclosed location for debriefing, and until we’ve mopped up all Rochefort’s people. I said you’re likely to head straight back to Sweden. Are you?”

“Feel like driving me back to Anne’s? I can catch a taxi to the airport from there.”

“No, I insist on taking you. It’s the least I can do. Uh, and Queen has said she would very much like you to come back to work with us after this is all over.”

From the way he said it, Treville also wanted Athos back. “I need to talk to the team. This whole business has raised quite a few questions about Queen, what we do, and who we do it for. Uh, and Queen may want a new start after talking to Anne.”

Treville pursed his lips. “I suppose that’s true. We need to rebuild. I was hoping for your help with that.”

“You can have that without me actually coming back to work for you. Give me a few days, Jean.”

“Of course. Let’s get you back to Sweden first.”

*****************************

Ashamed to have broken down over something that wasn’t even important, d’Artagnan had forced himself to man up, and put a brave face on things. Porthos and Aramis looked set to sit with him all day after he’d taken down the Garrison AI—who was not Constance, and never would be, he told himself firmly—but he’d shooed them away at lunchtime. Once they had, reluctantly, left to spend a little time sightseeing, he asked to see the doctor overseeing the ward. When she arrived, he asked her how soon he could be discharged.

“If you had care at home, tomorrow. Without it, at least another week.”

“And how soon can I fly?”

“Ah, that’s a little more difficult, with the lung injury.” She looked at his charge. “Another week, at least. Ideally, two. We don’t want a change in air pressure to put stress on that healing wound.”

“Okay. So, one of my friends is a trained army medic with up to date certification. Does that count as ‘help’?”

She smiled. “It certainly does.”

“Then, can I get out of here tomorrow?”

“I’ll set that all in motion for you, Charles.”

After she left, he eased himself out of bed. He had been walking a little further unaided every day, determined to become fit again. Without his friends, he had no temptation to rely on their generous assistance. He made himself walk up and down the corridor four times before taking a rest, and another four before he returned to his bed. It wasn’t just the pain in his leg and back from the bullet wound, but the inability to breathe as deeply as he wanted without it being agonising. But he kept trying to breathe deeper each day, each time he thought about it. Lung capacity could make the difference between life and death on the job.

And to be honest, physical exertion made it harder to think about other stuff. Like Constance. After the initial shock of hearing her voice—her real voice—at the end of the scorched earth protocol, he had calmed down. Yes, the AI had done since implementation was gone, and no, it couldn’t be reinstalled at Garrison. But Constance’s code still existed. He hadn’t destroyed that.

And he hadn’t killed _her_. Constance, the flesh and blood woman he adored, was already gone. Nothing he had done that day had hurt her.

Only him. And her loss was a constant ache, sometimes sharp and unbearable, sometimes dull and just there, under everything. Nothing could make her loss worse than it was.

If only he wasn’t so young. The years, decades ahead stretched ahead without her in a terrifying fashion. Aramis was sure it was possible to love again. D’Artagnan was equally sure that was bollocks. Maybe if she’d been just an ordinary woman, ordinarily lovely. Ordinarily clever.

But she wasn’t. She was the most beautiful, the kindest, the cleverest, bravest person he had ever known, and he had known a lot of clever, brave people. Everyone who’d known her had agreed—she had been special. Unique.

Irreplaceable.

He would never try to find another. But he loved people, he loved sex, and he’d loved being married. How to find something worth living for that didn’t include at least some of that, was out of his experience.

Athos had turned to drinking. That was definitely not the answer.

But Athos was better now, and Aramis said he was even coping with his ex now. Maybe Athos knew how to live without love. D’Artagnan would have to ask him.

He made another attempt to walk a bit, but he had temporarily exhausted himself, much to his disgust. A stroll of less than a couple hundred metres had worn him out when before the shooting, he could run miles with a full pack without breaking into much of a sweat. Aramis said healing took a lot of energy. D’Artagnan just thought he lacked willpower.

Willpower or not, though, he couldn’t force himself to stay awake when his body was screaming for the need to nap.

When he woke up, he found himself looking at a familiar pair of green eyes and a twisted little smile. He flung himself at his friend. “Athos. Oh my God.”

Athos hugged him tightly, carefully, patting his back, whispering soothing words against his hair. The raw comfort of his embrace shocked d’Artagnan. How could it feel this good with someone again? But Athos was someone he trusted and loved and needed, albeit differently from how he’d felt about Constance, and Athos gave good hugs. Even better than Aramis, who was, like, a hug ninja.

When Athos let him go, d’Artagnan said, “I didn’t think you’d get here so fast.”

“There were no flights going for hours, so Queen told Treville to book me a charter flight. And so, _voilà_.”

“It’s the least she could have done.” He sat back, but kept hold of Athos’s hands. “Is it really over? Did we win?”

“Yes, and yes. At least, I’m almost certain we did. Rochefort is in custody, his agents are being rounded up, and the makings of a massive security scandal are just seeping out into the press. We’re well out of it.”

“I’m getting out tomorrow, so long as someone looks after me. But I can’t fly just yet,” he added with a grimace.

But Athos only smiled. “That’s fine. We can stay in Sweden as long as we like, and you know, I rather think a proper holiday is due. I’ve already spoken to Aramis and Porthos, and they’re thinking of buggering off on a touring holiday around Sweden and Denmark, while I stay here and change your dressings.”

“You don’t need to. I mean, if you want to go with them, I can—”

Athos held up a hand. “I don’t. I’m perfectly happy to be looking after you. Besides, I haven’t seen much of Stockholm, and there are always day trips by train if we get terribly bored.”

“Okay.” It settled something inside him to know he wouldn’t be alone, but wouldn’t be tying down Aramis and Porthos too much. Or was it spending time with Athos without having to share? Maybe that. “Tell me everything.”

“Not much to tell. The rescue at the farm and arresting Rochefort both went as smoothly as it’s possible for those kind of things to go. Queen is with her son and ex at a safe house, and Anne’s with her.”

D’Artagnan scowled. “Bet you’re glad to be away from her.”

“I am, but not for the reason you think.” Athos gave him a wistful smile. “It made me realise that even without Thomas’s death, we probably would be divorced by now. Amazing how little you can know about someone even after years of being married to them.”

“You think Constance and me would have divorced too?”

“No. Well, not without something horrible happening. Something else horrible,” he amended. “You two were lock and key. Anne and I were more like two keys trying to fit in one lock.”

“You have morals. She doesn’t.”

“That’s not true, but I’m not going to defend her to you. She can do that herself, if she wants to. I can’t say she lies awake at night fretting about your lack of regard. Or mine either. Not any more.” He squeezed the hand of d’Artagnan’s he was holding. “All four of us have to talk about what we want to do when we get back to real life. I’m not happy about working for Queen again. She’s a brilliant programmer, but she botched this business, and you could have died because of it. So could Anne. You were both horribly hurt, and I can’t find it in me to forgive her for that.”

“Aramis was kind of hinting the same, and he loves her like crazy. I mean, not more than he does Porthos, but—”

“Yes, I know what you mean. So we have to decide whether we want to keep working with Treville, strike out on our own, go off on our own individual paths—”

“No!”

Athos lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You seem...decided on that point.”

“I don’t want to work with anyone else,” d’Artagnan said, aware he sounded a little whiny, but he didn’t care. “I already lost my best friend. I’m not losing you three as well.”

“Then we shall make sure that doesn’t happen," Athos said with a little cocked bow of his head. "You're looking so much better.”

D’Artagnan touched his jaw on the same place where Athos was sporting a small dressing. “Does it hurt?”

“From time to time. Anne did a good job in the circumstances, but it’s still a slice in my jaw muscle. No more imbedded tech for me.”

“Yeah, no. And no more AIs using dead wives as their personality.”

“I’m sorry, Charles. It must have been upsetting to destroy it.”

“It wasn’t,” he said, setting his jaw defiantly. “The only bit that hurt was at the end. She left a little message for me.” He swallowed. “That was all. It wasn’t _her_.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was a beautiful idea though. Very Constance.”

“Yeah.” One day, he thought. One day it won’t hurt to hear her name. He cleared his throat. “Uh, Aramis said that if I was a bit older and more experienced, I’d realise that I could fall in love again. I told him he was wrong, at least about me.”

“He could well be. Not everyone is Aramis.”

“Fortunately,” d’Artagnan said, and they shared a grin. “I told her once, I’d love her forever, and she said, there’s no such thing. Then she said, she’d love me until the [heat death of the universe](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heat_death_of_the_universe). How long is that, I asked. ‘Until the end of time,’ she said. ‘You mean, forever,’ I said, and she said, ‘Yes.’”

Athos laughed. “That’s a very Constance thing to say.”

“Yeah, it really was. Athos...did you feel like that about her? Anne, I mean?”

Athos’s gaze shifted, as he thought. “Yes,” he said finally. “For a long, long time. But not any more.”

“Because of this?”

“No, no. I’d changed my mind long before this mess. I thought for a long time that the only way to survive what had happened was to drive it out of my mind with booze. That didn’t work so well,” he added with a self-deprecating smile.

“No. I’m glad you stopped.”

The smile grew more genuine. “That’s one of the things that helped me _to_ stop.”

“So, if booze wasn’t the answer, what was?”

“I fell in love again. It was never to be—the other person was already with someone else, and happy. But that made me realise that my heart wasn’t locked to one person.”

“Who was it?” D’Artagnan had never heard Athos even hint at being interested in someone else.

“Not important. They’re still unavailable. But once I opened my eyes, I realised there was still love in the world even for me. You three nitwits, for a start.” D’Artagnan chuckled. “It all doesn’t have to be a grand passion with fabulous sex and high emotions. It can be a quiet thing, a glow rather than a forest fire. So perhaps you will find that glow too. You can’t replace Constance, but you have a big heart, Charles. A generous, warm, loving heart. I’m sure, when you’re ready, you’ll find room in it for someone else to sit alongside your love for Constance. Oh shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry again.”

D’Artagnan had to use both hands and, finally, the sheet to wipe his eyes. “Sorry. Jesus, I keep doing this. Sorry, Athos.”

Athos pulled him into another hug. “Do not ever apologise for feeling.”

D’Artagnan buried his face in Athos’s hair, the familiar smell of the man, his aftershave, helping to ground him a little. Embarrassed, consoled, loved, he couldn’t speak. But at that moment, he found hope.

No, he found _truth_. He could love again. Not the same, maybe not for a long time. But he could. His heart wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t dead. Constance lived in his heart, and she kept it beating and loving even though she was no longer there to hold him the way Athos was right now.

When the time was right, he would find a glow for someone, and they could stay beside her, inside him.

After all, she had always loved good company.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Constance has died before this story starts.
> 
> Anne de Winter suffers torture and rape off-screen.
> 
> Note:
> 
> The numbers d’Artagnan reads out in the scorched earth protocol are the dates he met Constance and when they first made love. The first code is their respective ages when they met.


End file.
